


The Last Of Us Novelization

by FlashRivers



Category: The Last of Us
Genre: Complete Novelization, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-14 04:12:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10528701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlashRivers/pseuds/FlashRivers
Summary: This is a complete novelization of the entire game.





	1. Chapter One

Joel Shepard got home late. He pulled his beat-up Chevy pick-up into the driveway, turned off the engine and sat for a moment, exhausted, under a full moon in the dead of a Texas night. He grabbed the keys from the ignition and looked glumly at the dark house before him: a two-story tract home on a half-acre lot with wood-siding. A rocking chair sat on the narrow porch by the front door. He grunted, opened the truck door and climbed out. It was another red-letter day at the job site. The crew was now down to five and was six weeks behind. And the client, now at the end of his rope, was threatening lawsuits.

As he walked heavily to the front door, his cell phone rang. He glanced down, saw the number and cursed to himself. More problems. It didn’t seem this day would ever end. He shook his head as he flipped it open. "For chrissake. What now?"

It was his brother Tommy.

"Just got off the phone with Lance,” Tommy sighed. “Whatever's going around, apparently he's got it too."

"So," Joel said, his blood pressure rising. "No tile guy."

"No tile guy," his brother confirmed.

"That's just..." He was on the verge of swearing, but didn't have the energy. Instead, he fumbled with the keys in his hand. "This whole job's going south, Tommy. And the goddamn contractor is nowhere to be found."

"If he's sick, he's sick. Not much you can do --"

Joel opened the door to his house and stepped inside. "Tommy. Tommy," he interrupted. "He is the contractor." He caught his temperature rising and lowered his voice. "He is the contractor, okay? I can't lose this job."

"What is it about 'sick' you don't understand?"

Joel caught a glimpse of the ten year-old asleep on the sofa. "I understand."

"Look. I'll call around, find someone."

"Lets talk about this in the morning, okay?" He flipped the switch by the door. The girl stirred as a soft glow of light filled the den.

"Hell, maybe I'll do it. How far along was he?"

"We'll talk about it in the morning."

"Sure."

"All right," Joel said. "Goodnight." He flipped the phone off and tossed the keys on the coffee table.

Yawning, the young girl sat up on one elbow. "Hey," she said, squinting up at him.

"Scoot," was all he could muster. She made room for him and he let his body collapse into the leather cushions.

"Fun day at work?"

Joel took a long look at her. She was in her plaid, thread-bare pajama bottoms and had one tee-shirt over another. Leather bracelets encircled her wrist and she wore a choker with beads around her neck. Her name was Sarah and she had a style all her own. Wheat-colored hair like her mother's which she preferred to keep short, an aversion to make-up, to boys, and especially dresses.

But that wonderful Texas drawl of hers? That was all Joel.

Her father gave her a sideways glance. "What are you still doing up?" He propped his head upright with tired fingers. "It's late."

"Oh crud what time is it?" She spun around and looked at the clock on the wall above the sofa.

Joel knew what time it was without lifting a muscle. "It's way past your bedtime,” he told her.

"But it's still today," she stated plainly, as if it were an indisputable fact. She always had a way of spinning things to her advantage, a trait she definitely didn't pick up from him.

With a burst of ten year-old energy, she scrambled to the far end of the sofa and reached for something hidden in the shadows.

Joel had a vague idea what was coming. "Honey, please not right now. I do not have the energy for this."

Ignoring his plea, Sarah popped up and confronted him with an outstretched arm. "Here."

In her hand was a square gray box.

"What's this?" Joel reached out and took it from her.

"Your birthday," Sarah replied, again stating the obvious.

He opened the box. An overwhelming sense of appreciation swept over him and he struggled hard to contain it.

"You kept complaining about your broken watch, so I figured, you know..." She ended the sentence with a shrug.

He removed the watch and sat the box down on the coffee table. He was too exhausted to handle the feelings that threatened to reveal themselves, and so to avoid them, he focused on fastening the watch to his wrist.

"You like it?"

The truth was he loved it. But hard knocks had taught Joel to keep his emotions at arm's length, and so the protective shield went up. He tapped the watch face and - making a face - said, "Honey, this is nice, but..."

"What?" There was a trace of panic in her voice.

He held the watch up to his ear. "It's nice but I think it's stuck. It's..." He made a helpless shrug.

Instantly Sarah panicked. "No, no, no..." She grabbed his wrist as her face went pale. A second passed... a second she noted by the ticking of the hand on Joel's watch, and her color returned.

"Oh ha ha," she said, pushing his arm away. She stretched out on the sofa away from him.

"Where'd you get the money for this?"

"Drugs," she said over her shoulder. "I sell hardcore drugs."

"Oh good." He settled into the sofa and grabbed the remote. "You can start helping out with the mortgage then."

She snorted. "You wish."

* * *

After over an hour of flipping channels, decompressing from an entire day spent putting band-aids on a sinking ship, Joel switched off the television. His worries had eased, thanks to the midnight marathon episodes of real-life lumberjacks, but a few concerns still bubbled to the surface. His earlier joke to Sarah about helping out with the mortgage had a kernel of truth. He was behind on the mortgage, not to the point of imminent foreclosure, but being behind on the house payment was never a good thing.

And this business with the construction crew was troublesome. Never before had he encountered so many setbacks related to crews not showing up. A typical nail-bender like himself knows you only get paid if you do the work. Construction workers ain't salaried and they ain't protected by the union. If a guy called in sick, you could bet your ass he's laid out at home and coughing up a lung. One, two guys on a crew sick? He guessed it was possible.

But five? Six? No, there had to be something else going on. Something serious.

If you listened to the news, with its tendency to exaggerate everything, you'd think the world was coming to an end. Skyrocket admittance to hospitals, people dropping at bus stops, in check-out lines, the post-office. There was even a local story of a woman who passed out behind the wheel of her SUV and careened into a bus load of school children. Thank God the kids weren't hurt, but Jesus...

And there were other news articles lurking in between the headlines of the flu epidemic. These were much more troublesome and so Joel steered his attention away from them, but you couldn't get some of them out of your head, like "mass-hysteria" and "brutal family slaying" and the worst: "man kills wife before feasting on family dog."

Christ, he thought, watching the scrawl at the bottom of the screen before flipping the television off for good. What in the world is going on?

He looked at Sarah sleeping peacefully beside him and he fought for some comforting thoughts, thoughts to replace the troubling images swirling in his head. Tomorrow was Friday, thank God, and that meant the weekend was near. He was looking forward to Sarah's soccer game in the afternoon - she was the team's star performer. Watching her shine on the field would do a lot to alleviate the worries from his shoulders.

He struggled to his feet, scooped Sarah up in his arms and carried her off to bed.


	2. Chapter Two

Sarah Shepard was sound asleep in her upstairs bedroom when the phone rang, and deep in the midst of a surreal dream.

She stood in the center of a giant stadium, her foot propped on a soccer ball, her gaze panning 360 degrees to take in the bright lights and cheering fans. It was a warm Austin night. The stars were out. Electricity filled the air. The national tournament had arrived, and she was the star player. But where her heart should have been filled with excitement, instead it was filled with a sense of unease.

She scanned the faces in the stadium hoping to catch sight of her father, but the shadowy parade of spectators were vaguely recognizable as human. It was the oblong gaping holes for mouths and the flickering lights for eyes that added to her unease, and their cheering sounds were more possessed of madness than mayhem, and it occurred to Sarah the bodies they embodied wanted nothing more than to desperately descend upon the field.

She emerged from the dream at the insistent demand of a buzzing by her bed. It was the cordless phone on her nightstand. Almost reflexively, she picked it up. Her body was awake but her mind lagged behind and she answered without thinking.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end had a desperate sense of urgency that immediately frightened Sarah and shook her from her sleep. "Sarah, honey. I need you to get your daddy on the phone."

"Uncle Tommy," she said, recognizing the voice. She struggled for some context to help ease her fear. "What time is it?"

The tone of his voice demanded her alarm: "I need to talk to your dad now. There's some --"

And then the line went dead.

"Uncle Tommy?" Sarah asked, her heart racing. "Hello??"

There was only the familiar looping of a disconnection tone on the other end.

Sarah replaced the handset and forced her mind to focus. She sat up out of bed and rose to her feet. How she had gotten into bed she couldn't remember. The lamp on the nightstand was on, giving her room a faint glow, filling it with pale light and long shadows.

She used the palm of her hand to rub the remaining sleep from her eyes. "What was that all about?" she heard herself ask. Her mind was still coming to life, the embers not yet fanned to flames.

She opened the door of her bedroom and stepped into the darkened hallway.

"Dad?"

There was no answer, but she heard the faint murmur of a television coming from his room. She opened the door to the upstairs bathroom. It was empty. A recent edition of the TEXAS HERALD lie on the counter by the sink. She picked it up. The headline shouted at her: ADMITTANCE STRIKES IN AREA HOSPITALS!" Her subconscious mind registered other disturbing headlines below, but she put the paper down, not wanting the seeds to take root.

She left the bathroom and turned to her right, heading for her father's bedroom. The bedroom door was ajar and she could see the white-static light of the television strobing from within. As she approached, the sound from the television became louder: she heard a woman's concerned voice coming from the speakers. She pushed the bedroom door open and entered.

"You in here?" she asked.

Her father's bedroom was big and, like her father, an untidy mess. A used bath towel hung from the rail of a stair-step climber beside the bed. There were dirty socks, crumpled jeans, coffee-stained architectural plans. A dog-eared Guns & Ammo magazine lie face down on the carpet. None of this surprised Sarah; this was how her father's bedroom always looked.

No, what grabbed her attention was the female reporter speaking to the camera and the frightened edge to her voice: "...seem to be somehow connected to the nationwide pandemic."

"Where the heck are you?" Sarah asked the empty room.

The reporter went on, and Sarah now turned her full attention to the live news broadcast: "We've received reports that victims afflicted with the infection show signs of increased aggression and --"

Her mind struggled to form a connection. Her missing father, the shocking headline in the paper, this live news feed. As she watched the screen, she saw men in uniforms carrying machine guns struggle to contain a fire in the reporter's background. They must've spotted the news crew, for their attention was immediately diverted from the fire to the woman holding the mic.

"We need to move everybody out of here now!" shouted one of the men in authority. "There's a gas leak!"

Sarah recognized the building in the background. It was the old courthouse near the capital building. She knew it well, as did everyone else living in the state's capital city. "That's nearby," she said without thinking.

"Hey!" the man shouted, anger and disbelief in his voice. "Move!"

But the reporter was too distracted by her own broadcast to heed the man's warning. "There seems to be some commotion coming from behind the..." As the reporter turned, the men panicked and raced to get her to safety. "Lady! Get the hell outta here right now!"

Because of a delay in the feed, Sarah heard the actual explosion before the woman on camera knew what was happening.

"Uh, what was that?" Sarah asked, shoulder blades up to her ears.

She turned and saw a bright ball of fire mushroom in the distance, followed by a pillar of black smoke. On the television, the live news feed went dead, and the television screen was filled with white static. She could only imagine what had happened to the woman reporter and the men trying to save her.

"Oh God," she gasped.

The explosion set off dogs and car alarms all over the neighborhood. She could hear the incessant barking mixed with wailing sirens in the distance. With her nerves completely on edge, she eased herself out of the bedroom, shoulders still tense.

"Dad?" The sound of her voice seemed unnatural in the strange glow of the room.

As she walked toward the door, hunched in fear, the fuzzy light from the television cast a surreal shadow of herself moving along the wall and she had the creepy sensation she was not alone.

She cried out again, louder: "Dad?!"

She hurried down the stairs, holding herself as she went. "What is going on?" she asked quietly, hoping the calm in her voice would soothe her.

When she reached the living room, she heard sirens approaching. She edged toward the window near the front porch and watched as several squad cars raced past, sirens wailing, red and blue lights flashing. Wherever they were going, they were hellbent on getting there.

Again, she hugged herself as a chill coursed down her spine. The sirens faded and she was left with the lone sound of a dog's relentless barking. Sarah recognized the bark. It was Luther, the neighbor's well-trained black lab. And he only barked when --

Her attention was grabbed by the vibration of a muted cell phone on the tile counter in the kitchen. She saw it. "There's his phone," she said, with a mixture of relief and concern.

She picked up her father's phone and looked at the list of alerts on the glowing touchscreen.

"Eight missed calls," she spoke aloud without thinking.

They were all from Uncle Tommy.

"Where the hell are you? CALL ME!" she said, as the icy chill of fear ran through her veins.

She saw the last one, sent at 2:11 am and read it aloud: "On my way."

She struggled to make sense of it and replaced the phone on the counter. Fighting a grip of terror threatening to constrict her lungs, she walked toward her father's office where a sole desk lamp provided a halo of luminescent light.

But as she passed before the sliding glass doors leading to the side patio, she heard a horrible yelp and jumped. Luther's barking had ceased. And, Sarah noted with a heart-stopping gasp, the tire rope swing that hung from the oak tree just beyond the patio was swinging madly.

Something was out there.

"Dad?" she whispered with a trembling voice. The pounding of her heartbeat against her ears made it impossible to think. She reached the double doors to his office and pushed them open. That's when she saw her dad rush in, crazy-like, as if something horrible were chasing him.

Instead of being reassured by his return, the terror in the way he moved and acted froze the blood in Sarah's veins. He was panicked. Scared. And in her ten years of life on this planet, she had NEVER EVER seen her dad show fear.

Joel, oblivious to his daughter's presence, quickly turned and slid the outer door to his office shut, locking it with a grunt of relief, his eyes scanning the outside for some unspoken terror.

"There you are," Sarah said, more with surprise than relief.

The sound of Sarah's voice brought Joel's attention back to the room, back to her.

"Sarah," he said, his voice laced with panic. "Are you okay?" He didn't wait for an answer. He turned immediately and started rifling through the drawers of his office desk, frantically searching for something.

Sarah answered his question with a hesitant, "Yeah." She was still trying to make sense of everything that had happened since Tommy jolted her awake with an abrupt and mysterious phone call.

Joel found what he was looking for. With dogged determination, he pulled the aluminum case from the drawer, opened it and reached for the Smith & Wesson .357 magnum inside.

"Has anyone come in here?" he asked over his shoulder. Sarah could hear him grapple with bullets, loading them frantically into the chamber.

"No," she replied to his back, barely able to speak. "Who would come in here?"

"Don't go near the doors!" Joel ordered, his tone more measured as he loaded one round after another. "Just stand back there."

Sarah was on the verge of tears. She didn't want to lose it all right then and there. She was just a kid and she needed some reassurance from him to keep herself together, not fall completely apart.

She said, "Dad... You're kinda freaking me out." In her words were the desperate plea for comfort. "What's going on?"

Her father must have sensed her need because the next words he spoke were delivered with a forced sense of calm. "It's the Coopers," he panted. "Something ain't right with them. I think they're sick."

Sarah struggled to make sense of the connection between the words he spoke and the gun in his hands.

"What kind of sick?" she asked.

But before he could respond, a horrible guttural cry, followed by a pounding at the sliding glass door made Sarah jump and spin around in fear.

She heard the terror in her father's voice as he gasped, "Jesus," and then he pointed his revolver at the glass and shouted a warning: "Jimmy!"

"Dad?!" Sarah exclaimed, edging backward, her heart in her throat. Somewhere deep inside, the revelation was dawning: Jimmy, the next-door neighbor's eldest son, was trying to smash through the heavy glass door.

"Honey, c'mere," Joel said. He backed up alongside her and motioned for her to get behind him. "C'mere, c'mere" he repeated in a panicked voice, sliding his body between her and the door.

As she backed away from the glass pane, huddled behind her father, the figure disappeared and Sarah heard a strangled, tortured cry come from the darkness, an inhuman moan that sent a cold sliver of fear down her back. She trembled from it and dug her fingers deep into her father's waist.

He heard her father whisper, "It's okay," and she could feel the adrenaline surge through his blood, could sense the raw energy rising to the surface. She knew he was at the peak of alertness, that all his survival instincts were primed, ready to be ignited.

The young man reappeared, throwing himself against the glass pane again, this time with much more force, and again Sarah's heart jolted.

"Jimmy!" her father warned a second time, but there was something in his tone... a desperate finality, as if he knew his efforts were useless.

The figure outside the door disappeared from Sarah's view for a second time, a heartbeat longer, and she knew instinctively what Jimmy was doing.

He was getting a running start.

And when Jimmy Cooper appeared again, he was racing toward the glass like a madman.

"Jimmy!" her father shouted.

Cooper hurtled himself inside, smashing through the pane, sending glass shards in all directions. He landed in a heap on the floor amid the broken glass.

The impact didn't seem to have an effect on the boy as he rolled to his side and snarled. In that instant, with Sarah huddled behind her father, she caught a glimpse of Jimmy's face. It was the blood-soaked chin, the mask of dark-blue around his wild, blood-shot eyes, and Sarah felt the horror of his existence. Whatever this was, it wasn't Jimmy Cooper any longer.

Joel shouted at the thing as he continued to back-peddle keeping Sarah behind him: "Jimmy, just stay back. I'm warning you..."

But the creature scrambled to its feet in an cannibalistic rage and Sarah heard herself cry, "Oh my God..." and Joel shouted again. It made a blood-thirty lunge for Joel's throat, oblivious to the gun leveled at its blood-stained chest.

"Don't!" Joel yelled and in the next instant, the gun went off, filling the room with a blinding flash of light, shattering Sarah's eardrums with an explosiveness that clamped her body tight. She screamed, burying her face into the back of Joel's shirt.

She heard the deadening thump of a body hitting the floor as a shiver of terror coursed through her. Trembling, she opened her eyes, saw Jimmy Cooper writhing on the floor, a gaping hole in his chest. In the next instant, the body was still.

Joel had grabbed her by the wrists and was pulling her back into the kitchen. "Go, go," he ordered, pulling her into the light. Her mind was in shock as it grappled to conceive the inconceivable.

"You -- you shot him," she said with trembling lips.

Joel lowered himself to eye-level with Sarah. He had his hands on her arms, trying to control her fear, his body blocking her view of the office and the dead body inside.

"Sarah," he said. There was a peculiar calm to his voice, a lifesaver for her to grab on to, to keep her from drowning in fear.

"I saw him this morning..."

"Listen to me." He spoke slowly and deliberately, his eyes peering into hers, forcing her to focus. "There is something bad going on." He spoke the word carefully, so that Sarah knew it wasn't over-exaggeration and it caused Sarah's focus to return. She met his steely gaze, embraced the comfort it provided. The fear that threatened to consume her retreated.

"We have got to get out of here, do you understand me?"

Sarah nodded and said, "Yeah."

Just then, Joel's attention was grabbed by their shadows moving across the wall. A vehicle had just pulled into the driveway, its headlights shining through the windows, filling the den with light.

"Tommy," her father said, exhaling a sigh of relief. He grabbed Sarah's wrist and headed toward the front door. "C'mon."


	3. Chapter Three

He hurried her to the front door, toward the blinding light in the windows, and Sarah felt herself glancing over her shoulder, back toward the office. The reality of what had happened hadn't yet settled; it was though she were living a nightmare.

Joel threw the front door open and scrambled outside with Sarah in tow. He was met by his younger brother, Tommy, moving with rigid alarm around the front of his SUV. Her uncle was a man with the same physical assuredness as her father, but with twice the intensity and emotion.

"Where the hell you been?" Tommy asked in a panic. "You have any idea what's going on out there?"

Joel turned, allowing Tommy to glimpse his face and shirt. "I got some notion."

"Holy shit," Uncle Tommy gasped.

Joel opened the back door to the SUV and ushered Sarah inside. "C'mon baby," he said. "Go on in there."

"You got blood all over you."

"It ain't mine," Joel stated calmly. "Let's just get out of here."

"They're saying half the people in the city have lost their minds."

Joel shut the door and then climbed into the passenger seat. "Can we just please go?" he pleaded.

Tommy nodded and passed in front of the headlights on his way to the driver's side, creating a grotesque shadow that lurched across the front porch. Images of Jimmy flashed behind Sarah's eyes and she felt the cold fear returning. "Some sort of parasite or something," she heard him say, as he scrambled behind the wheel.

He paused before putting the car in gear and glanced across at Joel. "You gonna tell me what happened?"

"Later," was all her father said.

He put the car in reverse and turned to look behind him and his gaze landed on Sarah straddled between the two seats. "Hey, Sarah," he said, his voice calm. "How you holding up, honey?"

She answered without thinking. "I'm fine," she said.

Uncle Tommy backed into the street. The night was warm and the sky above was clear. He pointed the vehicle east and put the car in drive. Up ahead were brake-lights, another car on the road, and seeing them gave Sarah a bit of relief.

She asked, "Can we hear what's on the radio?"

"Yeah, sure thing," Uncle Tommy said. He flipped the knob as he mashed the gas petal. Joel sat beside him in silence.

Sarah replied with a "Thanks," but instantly regretted her decision. Nothing but empty static buzzed from the car's speakers, erasing what little comfort she felt.

Tommy flipped it off. "No cell phone. No radio. Yeah," he said. "We're doing great."

As Tommy drove toward the highway, they passed a familiar house at the end of the street: the Wilkinsons. Sarah knew them and well. Their station wagon was in the driveway, the motor running, the tailgate lifted. The breaklamps were on and everything was bathed in a red glow. Mrs Wilkins stood in the driveway like a deer caught in the headlights. The father was nearby on one knee, packed bags by his side, imparting something vital to their young son. The whole scene seemed surreal, something out of a dream.

"Minute ago," Tommy continued, "the newsman wouldn't shut up."

"He say where to go?" Joel asked in a level tone.

Tommy thought for a moment. "He said, ah... Army's putting up road blocks on the highway." He sighed heavily. "No getting into Travis County."

The road they were on ended at a highway going north and south. Highway signs, a hospital sign pointed in either direction.

"That means we need to get the hell out," Joel said, leaning forward. He pointed to the black highway sign in the shape of Texas. "Take 71."

"71," Tommy confirmed. "That's where I'm headed." As he approached the stop sign, a Texas trooper with lights flashing, sirens blaring, rushed by, heading toward the interstate. The fact they were turning in the opposite direction of the sirens gave Sarah a tinge of relief.

She struggled to grab onto something hopeful. "Did they say how many are dead?" she asked, hoping for some reassurance.

"Probably a lot," Tommy said, failing to recognize her need. "Found this one family all mangled inside their house."

Joel put a hand on Tommy's arm. "Tommy," Joel said curtly, reminding him of Sarah's presence.

"Right," Tommy said, and became quiet as he eased his emotions back down. "Sorry."

Sarah watched the SUV's headlights scour the winding road ahead as she willed her heartbeat to return to normal. Tommy made a sharp left turn, following the black and white sign to the state highway.

She saw Joel lean forward with concern and felt Tommy take his foot off the gas. She followed her father's gaze to the left and saw the flickering light post and the smashed car underneath. Someone had crashed headlong into the pole, causing its lamp to shatter.

Sarah stared at the car, its crushed hood, the driver's door hanging open, a shower of orange sparks dancing on its roof. The driver was nowhere to be found. "Jesus Christ," gasped Joel. "How did this happen?"

"They got no clue," Uncle Tommy said, making another left and stepping on the gas. "But we ain't the only town."

The vehicle descended a narrow lane and the green foliage from the surrounding woods seemed to close in around them, choke them. "At first they were saying it was just the south. Now they're going on about the East Coast, the West Coast..."

Up ahead, an orange glowed grabbed Sarah's attention. Something was on fire.

"Holy hell," Uncle Tommy exclaimed.

The large three-story ranch was ablaze, engulfed in weltering red flames, a trail of orange smoke drifting up into the starry night sky. "That's Louis's farm," Tommy said.

Sarah turned and stared at the structure. She jumped as she saw her own apparition staring back, reflected by the light of the fire and the burning timbers consumed by the flames.

"I hope that son of a bitch made it out."

"I'm sure he did," her father said.

Suddenly, a horrible thought came to her and she said it aloud without thinking: "Are we sick?"

Joel turned to look at her in the eye. "No," he said. "Of course not."

The vehicle approached another intersection and Tommy brought the car to a halt, scanning the highway signs.

It wasn't reassurance she was after from her father. It was the truth. She asked, "How do you know?"

Tommy interjected, turning the car to the east. Out of the three of them, he was the authority on the subject, having listened to the news reports. But when he spoke, his voice lacked the authority he wished to convey: "They said it's just, ah, people in the city. We're good."

The city? thought Sarah. Was it true? She turned to her father. "Didn't Jimmy work in the city?"

Joel considered a moment. She could tell he was working it out in his mind. "That's, right," he said. "He did." And then he added, "We're fine. Trust me."

She didn't have much else to hold on to, so she did as he suggested. "All right," she said.

A moment passed. Sarah listened to the hum of the tires on the highway, then she felt a stutter as Uncle Tommy eased off the gas.

Up ahead, standing next to the speed limit sign, a man and woman...

"Let's see what they need."

As they approached, Sarah saw the frightened child.

Joel grabbed Tommy's arm. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Keep driving."

"They gotta kid, Joel." He spoke with a edge of surprise in his voice.

"So do we," Joel said. There was panic in his voice. He didn't want Tommy to let the car come to a rest.

"But we have room," Sarah heard herself say.

The man moved in front of the headlights waving for help, pleading. "Hey!" he shouted. There was a helpless plea in his voice. His wife had the same forlorn look in her eyes as that of Mrs.Wilkinson, the woman standing at the edge of her driveway in the middle of the night. A look of a world having come to an end. A look of loss and confusion. Of total abandonment.

"Keep driving, Tommy!"

"Hey stop!" the man pleaded again, and it made Sarah cringe, the helplessness in his voice, the guilt pulling at her gut.

With a palpable reluctance, Tommy stepped on the gas. The man cried out again and it made Sarah's blood freeze, that anguish in his voice mixed with disbelief. She knew Uncle Tommy didn't like leaving those people - people like themselves - behind in the dark, at the mercy of some unspeakable terror.

The drone of the tires filled the silence. After letting a moment pass for their heart rates to settle, Joel turned to his brother. "You ain't seen what I seen," he said quietly. Sarah caught a glimpse of the dried blood on his cheeks. "Someone else will come along."

Sarah knew her father was right but inside she was still struggling with the guilt in her stomach. "We should've helped them," she said weakly.

Another turn and now they were nearing the highway. An ambulance passed and strobed the inside of their car with flashing red lights. By now, Sarah had gotten used to the wail of sirens and she managed to keep her pulse rate steady.

The hospital was on the left, the highway just over the hill and to the right. Overhead she heard the thumping blades of a passing helicopter. But when they came abreast of the hospital at the top of the hill, Sarah's heart sank.

"Oh, this is bad," Uncle Tommy said, bringing the car to a halt.

Between them and the highway stretched a sea of red taillights. Joel leaned forward, scanning the horizon in the night, trying to get a handle on the situation.

"Everyone and their mother had the same damn idea," her uncle said.

The helicopter above seemed right on top of them and it was hard to hear what her father was saying. "Well, we could just backtrack and..."

Her focus wasn't on what her father was saying, or the helicopter, or the traffic. It was on the man in the car ahead of him. She felt an immediate rush of panic as the man stepped angrily from his car...

No, no, no... she thought to herself.

Instead of threatening them, the man's attention turned to the traffic ahead of him and his cursing shouts interrupted her father's train of thought: "Hey! What the fuck man! Let's go!"

What they witnessed next was nothing short of unbelievable.

Something manic raced across the road, plunging itself into the man with such force that the impact of its collision shook the car violently and made the woman inside scream in horror. It wore a blue hospital gown, and resembled an older man in appearance, but its speed and savagery was anything but human. It literally ripped the man apart, from the inside out, and soon was covered in a fountain of gushing blood.

"Holy shit," Uncle Tommy gasped. Sarah couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't tear her eyes away. Soon, another flash of blue raced into the scene, this one a woman, and she began ruthlessly hacking away at the woman in the passenger seat.

The woman's anguished cry filled the night air.

"Turn us around," Joel said evenly.

"Oh my God," was Tommy's reply. He too, like Sarah, was frozen with shock and disbelief.

"Tommy! Tommy!" Joel urged, jostling his brother back to reality.

Sarah saw the first creature look up from the bloody corpse, a river of red pouring down the front of the blue hospital gown. He locked eyes with Sarah and it seemed something behind the eyes switched on, and it raced toward them with blinding speed.

"Holy shit," yelled Uncle Tommy, fumbling to get the SUV in gear. He threw the vehicle in reverse, made a quick one-eighty, as Sarah's eyes remained locked on the thing racing toward her. She noticed the same blood-shot eyes, the same grotesque look of madness she'd seen on Jimmy when he burst through the glass.

Only this one was coming faster, and she knew the glass window wouldn't protect her.

As Tommy stepped on the gas, the creature slammed up against the passenger window by Sarah's face, leaving a pair of bloody hand prints. The glass held, and in the next instant, they were racing away.

"What the fuck just happened?" Tommy screamed, searching for a handle on the situation. "What the fuck just happened?" He mashed his foot on the peddle and sped over a crossing, jolting the car into the air. "Did you see that?"

"Yes," Joel said, his voice strained. "I saw it."

Uncle Tommy cursed and shook his head.

"Turn here, turn here," Joel said, pointing to a side street on Tommy's left.

Sarah swayed hard to the right as Uncle Tommy veered hard to the left. At the edge of her awareness she could hear the indistinguishable screams and cries for help. The vehicle stopped and they found themselves facing a crowded street. Not crowded with cars, but people. A frightened mob running their way.

Jackknifed ahead was an RV, plowed in the side of a building. All around them were lost souls, faces awash with fear, stumbling aimlessly in the night.

"Come on people, move!"

Suddenly a group of panicked souls appeared from behind the wrecked camper and, like startled rabbits, rushed past them.

"What are they running from?" Sarah asked.

"Get us out of here," Joel said.

"I'm trying," his brother answered. Tommy floored the SUV but then an older man in a green cap and gray shirt suddenly appeared between the headlights. Uncle Tommy hit the brakes. The man's hands slammed the hood of Tommy's car as the two connected, causing Sarah to cry out. The man's mouth hung open as he scanned the passengers inside. There was no anger in his eyes, only bewilderment.

He shuffled off, but more people appeared at the end of the street, stumbling toward them like survivors of a plane crash.

"We can't stop here, Tommy!" Joel yelled.

Uncle Tommy was at the end of his rope. "I can't fucking drive through them, Joel!"

A shouting match erupted between the two: "Then back up then!"

"They're behind me too!"

Sarah's eyes were transfixed on the faces of the people stumbling past them. She'd never encountered such abject fear and the tangible loss of humanity frightened her.

Suddenly a gap appeared in the rush of oncomers and Joel screamed and pointed. "There! There!"

"Hold on!" her uncle yelled.

She felt the SUV lurch as it ran up on the sidewalk. Tommy held a white-knuckle grip on the wheel, was threading them carefully through the thinning crowd. Finally they were clear and she felt the car surge forward as Tommy gave it gas.

But out of the corner of her eye, she saw a pair of blinding headlights racing to meet them. She cried for her uncle to look out, but it was too late.

The vehicle struck them in the side, filling the interior with shattered glass, and Sarah found herself being flung violently across the seat as everything slowly faded to black.


	4. Chapter Four

There was ringing in Joel's ears as the tide of consciousness slowly returned. He heard someone calling to him from a distance, calling his name, and slowly the blinding pain behind his eyes subsided, and he felt a gentle hand nudging him.

"Daddy? Daddy?"

He wasn't quite sure where he was. Was he home? Was Sarah nudging him awake as she was prone to do?

"Daddy," he heard her say, with a sense of urgency in her voice.

"What?" he asked. He opened his eyes. Slowly he registered the cracked windshield, a pair of legs racing madly past him. He heard the distant groans and cries. The smell of gasoline in the air.

The SUV was on its side and he was inside, looking out. His vision cleared and he saw the brutal savagery taking place in the cab of the wrecked truck beside them. The furious onslaught of an animal ravaging its prey. Hands, teeth, blood. Inhuman moans filled his ears.

He quickly returned to his senses and knew he had to get himself and his daughter away from this madness.

He eased her arm away from him. "Get back," he told her. The smashed SUV continually rocked as people pushed their way past it in a rush to get free.

Sarah disappeared behind the seat and he leaned back, grabbed the handrail above his head and he twisted his body so his foot could reach the windshield. Using every ounce of strength, he kicked the windshield with his foot, planting a heavy boot in the middle of the broken glass. He kicked once, twice, a third time. Finally the windshield gave.

With effort, Joel struggled to crawl his way out of the space where the windshield had been. All around him he heard the screams of people fleeing, heard the pounding of the pavement as they ran.

The downtown street had turned into a war zone, with sparking cables, downed traffic signals, wrecked vehicles. Clumps of human flesh lay scattered on the pavement. All around was mayhem.

When he struggled to his feet, he couldn't help but be frozen by what he saw. Mass hysteria filled the street. He found himself leaning against the crashed SUV in order to pull it together, give him time to think. The guttural cries he heard racing toward him didn't register until it was too late.

Almost immediately the beast was upon him, fingers ripping at his face, teeth snapping at his throat. He'd brought his arm up reflexively and it managed to keep the gnashing jaws from ripping into his flesh. Before he could react, he saw his brother materialize from the shadow of the SUV, a heavy red brick in his hand.

Tommy struck the monster in the side of the head, caving its skull in with one massive blow.

The two brother's looked at each other, each aware of just how close death had come. Joel didn't need to say thank you; his eyes said it for him. He turned his attention back to the SUV and the little girl trapped inside.

"Dad?" Sarah cried out.

"I'm here baby. I'm here," he said, kneeling down to get her. "Come on, give me your hand."

He pulled Sarah from the wreckage and as she took a step forward, she stumbled and cried out in pain.

He caught her in his arms. "What is it?" he asked.

"My leg hurts."

"How bad?"

"Pretty bad," she said.

Suddenly Tommy appeared, his face full of resignation, his eyes focused on an unseen terror approaching rapidly.

"We're gonna need to run," he said simply.

Joel knew what was coming and cursed the situation under his breath. He reached behind him and withdrew his revolver, plopped it into his brother's hands.

"Keep us safe," he said. He scooped Sarah into his arms as Tommy held the gun out before him. Now, they were ready to run.

"Come on baby," he said, bursting into a sprint. "Now hold on tight!"

His daughter did exactly that as her fingers dug into his shoulders and she buried her head into his chest. He was running behind Tommy, just up ahead. They were headed toward the TEXAN gas station at the end of the hill.

Others ran past him. All around were fallen victims, with the ravenous hunched over their bodies. He heard Sarah let out a gasp, and he squeezed her tight against him. "Keep your eyes closed, honey!"

Over his shoulder were the moans of the attackers, low and guttural, and he could hear their scraping footsteps just behind. As they neared the gas station, a vehicle careened into the pumps, setting off an explosion that trembled the pavement beneath Joel's feet.

Flames rolled horizontally from the blast and Joel veered right, a wave of stifling heat engulfing him, soot filling his lungs. He had managed to avoid the flames, but the people to his left weren't so lucky. He heard Sarah's anguished voice reveal the unspeakable truth: "Those people are on fire."

"Just keep looking at me baby!" he told her. It seemed as if the whole world were crashing down around their shoulders. Everywhere you turned, chaos, panic, bloodshed. Screams, the ear-splitting sound of metal on metal as cars collided, the rumble of buildings as explosions shook them.

Tommy lead the way, with Joel right on his heels. They rounded a corner. The Armadillo Theater was just up ahead, it's glittering lights and Texas shining star a beacon in the warm Austin night. They were headed right for it, with no logic why, when a car in flames crashed into its box-office setting off an explosion that killed the power and covered them in a blanket of darkness.

Beyond the flames of the wreckage, Joel could see a flurry of angry faces racing towards them.

"Get back!" Tommy cried. "There's too many of them!"

Joel stopped in tracks, desperately looking around for an exit. That's when Tommy spotted the gate.

"This way," he cried, motioning with the gun. "Through the alley!"

He pointed to the nearby alley and instantly Joel rushed for it as people fled in all directions.

Tommy opened the gate and Joel raced through, holding Sarah tightly in his arms. “Go!” Tommy shouted.

Now they were separated from the panicked mob, racing frantically down a long dark alley. The brick walls seemed to close in on Joel from the sides, and suddenly he heard the distinctive guttural sounds just ahead, but his forward momentum was to fast to stop.

The creature lunged for Joel and he fought to hold him off, one arm holding Sarah, the other against the maniac's throat.

Tommy appeared at his side, kicking the madman in the gut, knocking it to the ground. He put a boot on the man's chest as it fought and scratched, and he lowered the gun and fired.

"He's dead!" Tommy cried, resuming his point position.

"Jesus," was all that Joel could utter. His mind was still struggling to come to terms with the madness around him.

The cries of the chasing horde had grown louder and he closed his eyes as he ran, repeating an earnest prayer to his daughter: "We're almost there, baby. We're almost there."

“Let’s go!” Tommy cried.

The word ‘There’ meant safety, and safety had to be close. It had to be.

Tommy pointed to the front of a bar with neon lights. "There!" he shouted.

There. Safety at last. 

They raced up the stairs, past the outdoor picnic tables with their green umbrellas, heading for the door of the bar. Joel rushed in behind Tommy just as the horde descended upon them. Their blood-thirsty pursuers lunged at them with outstretched arms. Tommy slammed the door on their limbs, the revolver in his hand at the ready. 

As the crazed mob fought manically to get inside, Tommy leaned his weight against the door, pinning their hands and arms. He turned and yelled at his brother: "Get to the highway!"

"What?" Joel asked, reeling to face him. He stood near the empty bar with Sarah in his arms. He saw Tommy forcing the door closed with his free arm as frantic hands and nails scraped the wall beside him. Judging by their pursuers’ determination, it didn't appear either of them had much time.

Tommy yelled again: "Go! You got Sarah! I can outrun 'em!

Sarah stiffened in Joel's arms. "Uncle Tommy!" she cried out.

Joel had to make a split-second decision. All around them were screams and the pounding of feet and fists. Complete pandemonium.

He knew Tommy was right. He looked solemnly at his younger brother and spoke, his words more of a vow than a statement: "I will meet you there.” He spun and took off like a madman toward the rear of the bar.

"Hurry!" he heard his brother shout.

Joel smashed through the back door and found himself standing on a desolate outdoor patio behind the bar. A member of the horde tackled another man nearby, ripping at his throat. Joel spotted a crumbling gap in the brick ledge at the rear of the enclosure and raced toward it. In the distance he could see the rusted iron bridge spanning the river and, beyond that, the glowing lights of the highway. Amid the screams and wails, a helicopter thumped overhead.

"Daddy," Sarah cried, her eyes wide with panic, "We can't leave him!"

"He's gonna be fine," he told the daughter trembling in his arms. Another victim let out a blood-curdling scream to his left just before the its body was ripped to shreds. Joel leapt past the fallen victim and a snarling maniac instantly fell upon it, devouring the body as it writhed in pain. 

He quickly scrambled down a rutted hill as a strangled cry echoed in his ears.

"We're almost there," he said in a panicked voice.

Now at last he was on a direct dirt path leading to an embankment and the highway beyond. The neon lights from the bar cast an eerie shadow on the ground before him and he saw other shadows emerge in his field of vision. Grotesque shadows, arms flailing. He heard their desperate cries behind him, could almost feel their blood-soaked breath upon his neck.

“They’re getting closer,” Sarah cried. Her desperate fingers dug into his flesh.

A gust of wind from the helicopter overhead engulfed Joel. The bright circle of light from its search beam skimmed the nearby terrain, its blades thumping past him. Around the bend were flashing red lights illuminating the gully, and as Joel rounded the turn, he saw the ambulance on its side with its doors hanging open. A gurney lie half-exposed in the back. The smell of gasoline filled his nostrils.

“Dad?”

The driver crawled frantically on his elbows, dragging two broken legs behind. He was headed for a set of makeshift floodlights near a generator at the top of the hill. From the anguished cries and pounding soles just behind him, Joel knew the poor bastard didn’t stand a chance. He heard the man cry out in horror as one of angry horde caught up to him. Joel didn’t glance back. He just kept racing with all his strength. The floodlights had become a beacon of hope and he was headed straight for them.

Suddenly machine gun fire erupted amid a searing light and Joel turned away, seeing his crazed followers tumble back, their chests explode with bullet holes. He heard the bodies hit the ground, felt Sarah’s arm tighten around his neck. In the next instant, the night air was silent; the blood-chilling moans and groans were gone. 

Joel turned and looked behind him. His shoulders relaxed and he met Sarah’s frightened eyes. “It’s okay, baby,” he said. “We’re safe.”

His eyes rose and took stock of the man standing between him and the floodlights: the black silhouette of an armed soldier, his dark shadow stretching out before him. A huge sigh of relief escaped Joel’s lungs. “Hey!” he shouted and took a step toward the armed silhouette. “We need help, please…”

“Stop!”

The single word the soldier uttered was more of a threat than a command. The tone sent a chill down Joel’s spine. The word was muffled, and Joel quickly realized why: the armed man in fatigues wore a gas mask over his face.

“Please,” Joel said. “It’s my daughter. I think her leg’s broken…”

“STOP RIGHT THERE!”

Joel’s eyes were blinded by the light affixed to the muzzle of the machine gun and he squinted. He saw the man stretch his arm forward, press his palm outward. A warning. This was serious, Joel thought, and he understood the man’s concern.

“Okay,” Joel said, trying to keep his voice calm, edging himself back. “We’re not s-sick.” He cursed himself for stuttering; his adrenaline had finally run its course.

The soldier spoke into a radio transmitter affixed to his shoulder. His voice carried a tone of relief: “Got a couple of civilians in the outer perimeter. Please advise.”

Joel felt the tension in Sarah’s body ease as he held her. His attention was on the guard as his receding heart rate pounded in his ears. 

“Daddy, what about Uncle Tommy?” she asked.

He looked down and reassured her in a hushed voice: “We’re gonna get you to safety and go back for him. Okay?”

She nodded and laid her head upon his shoulder.

Joel’s attention was teased to alertness by the strange tension detected in the soldier’s words. The man issued a reply into his radio. “Sir,” he said with a strained voice. “There’s a little girl…”

A silence fell as the soldier’s breathing labored. “But…” he said. Another brief silence followed. Joel could feel the hairs in his neck stiffen. The soldier spoke again. This time his voice was full of resignation. He simply said: “Yessir.”

And somehow Joel sensed the horror of what was soon to come.

“Listen buddy,” Joel said frantically. “We’ve just been through hell. Okay? We just need to…”

The man lifted the machine gun into the groove of his shoulder, taking aim. 

“Oh shit!” Joel cursed, his faced flooded in the wash of the flashlight. He spun away, but not before the gunshots erupted and he felt something hot pierce his side. He twisted in pain, crying out, and Sarah flew from his arms. He tumbled down the hill and came to a rest face down in the dirt. His mind reeled from what had just happened.

As the footsteps approached, he rolled over on his side, raising a hand. He knew this was the end.

The dark figure towered above Joel and aimed his weapon. Joel spoke, his voice drained of emotion. “Please,” he said. “Don’t.”

The gunshot exploded in his ears and echoed in the distance.

To Joel’s surprise, the soldier’s head jerked violently to one side and then his body slowly crumbled to the ground. Joel glanced to his left and saw Tommy approach, breathing heavy, both hands on the smoking revolver.

That’s when he heard Sarah’s stifled cry.

“Oh no,” gasped Tommy, his face drained of blood.

Joel quickly jerked his head behind him, saw a shadow lying on the ground. He scrambled on all fours toward it. “Sarah!” he cried.

Sarah lay flat on her back on the dirt, still in her flannel pajamas, her legs stretched before her. Her hands rested on her stomach barely masking the widening circle of blood soaking her powder blue tee-shirt.

Joel could barely speak, his heart clogged his throat. “Okay,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Move your hands baby…” He could handle this, he reassured himself. He just needed to see how bad it was.

Sarah reached for him in panic, her eyes wide, face flushed. Her body trembled with fear. 

“I know, baby,” Joel said, taking her blood-stained hands in his. “I know…” He put both hands over the the tiny hole in her tee-shirt; the crimson blood seeped through his fingers. She reached for him again, letting a strangled cry escape her lips. “Listen to me,” he said. “I know this hurts. You’re gonna be okay, baby. Stay with me.”

His words were meant for him just as much as they were for her. 

“I’m gonna pick you up…” He bent down and tried to scoop her up in his arms. Her body felt so light, so ephemeral. He was half-aware of his brother kneeling at his side, his face grim. When his eyes returned to Sarah, he noticed the trembling had ceased.

And just like that, Sarah, his little girl, was gone.

“Sarah,” he gasped, staring into her unseeing eyes. The horrible reality took hold. It spread through his veins like a virus and his body convulsed with grief. “Baby…” he cried, burying his face into her neck. He pleaded with her: “Don’t do this to me, baby. Don’t do this to me, baby girl. Come on…”

As he rocked her tightly in his arms, his mind recoiled in disbelief. It was all just a terrible dream, a nightmare. He just needed to wake up, needed her to wake him up. To nudge him like she did on Saturday mornings, when the sun filled the house with warmth and breakfast was on the table, and he had to get up and get atom, because there was a soccer game that afternoon, and things to do around the house, and that new movie at the mall Sarah was dying to see…

But when he opened his tear-stained eyes to the darkness surrounding him, he knew with grim reality that it wasn’t a dream. And the dam to his emotions crumbled and his pain poured forth, in agonizing, gut-wrenching sobs. He clutched Sarah’s lifeless body, knowing his world would never be the same.


	5. Chapter Five

The amount of time it took for the world to flip completely upside down was surprisingly short. 

_As people stand in long lines at their designated quarantine centers, they listen intently to battery-operated radios, watch tiny, fuzzy screens on portable televisions. Men and women, disillusionment etched on their faces, shuffle into what soon becomes a false sanctuary, carrying their children in their arms and hastily-packed bags in their hands. A father drags along his son’s yellow Big Wheel._

_An older man standing in line turns and looks back at the ghastly faces of survivors snaking a mile behind him and a chill runs down his spine: it reminds him of Jews being herded into Auschwitz at the beginning of World War II…_

_On one of the televisions overhead, a young female reporter, her face devoid of emotion but her voice steady, reads from a teleprompter: “The number of confirmed deaths has passed two hundred. The Governor has called a state of emergency…”_

In the beginning, no one understood the severity of the disaster, especially those in charge. People were desperately trying to hold on to their old way of life. Those who didn’t go to the quarantine centers barricaded themselves in their homes. The rule of law quickly vanished.

_A stocky man in blue-jean overalls, a shotgun across his knees, sits in a rocker in a dark living room, his wife and two small children huddled nearby. They listen intently to the radio in a house void of electricity. They hear the chilling words of a survivor recounting what he saw. His voice is filled with shock and disbelief: “There were hundreds and hundreds of bodies lining the streets.” A pounding at the door, strangled cries; the man jumps to his feet, shotgun at the ready…_

Things only turned worse when waves of terror-stricken citizens flooded the make-shift quarantine centers. This, from a news broadcast in New York: “Panic spread worldwide after a leaked report from the World Health Organization showed that the latest vaccination tests have failed.”

Government officials, faced with massive riots on their hands, took the next logical step. 

_An exhausted nurse, her grimy uniform matted with blood, listens to her hand-held radio. With camera shutters clicking in the background, she hears these brazen remarks from a military commander: “…with the bureaucrats out of power we can finally take the necessary steps to…_

Riots in major cities became the status quo. 

_A woman holding a small infant finds herself practically squeezed to death by a throng of rioters as police push them back. In her eyes, the vacant stare of disbelief that would soon be the hallmark of the non-infected. On loudspeakers overhead, a reporter’s voice delivers the current state of affairs: “Los Angeles is now the latest city to be placed under martial law…” Amid the yelling and screaming, her voice carries on: “All residents are required to report to their designated quarantine…”_

Now, Los Angeles, New York, Chicago… Cities wracked by violent upheaval. A cold gray sky threatened to suffocate the huddled masses underneath. 

_As a man rummages through a dumpster flipped on its side, he hears this from his pocket radio: “Riots have continued for a third consecutive day and winter rations are at an all time low,” and in the background an angry mob screams and jeers._

In Boston, the sun managed to break through the cruel winter clouds. A brief respite from the biting cold.

_In the corner of an abandoned building, a thin woman huddles with others under a heap of wool blankets. A radio propped up on an empty milk crate crackles with the latest news: “A group calling themselves the Fireflies have claimed responsibility for both attacks.” A female reporter adds, “Their public charter calls for the return of all branches of government.”_

And then something rose from the gloom of utter despair. Something to give the suffering masses hope.

_On the fifty-yard line of the Mercedes-Benz Superdome in New Orleans, a tired man in a white hazmat suit digs another grave as others drag forth more decaying bodies. In his ear, the latest news from his battery-powered radio. A man’s voice reports: “Demonstrations broke out following the execution of six more alleged Fireflies.”_

But for one survivor in Austin, Texas, the hope promised by this latest turn of events was rejected.

_Joel lay in a hospital bed on the outskirts of Austin, his torso wrapped in bandages. He was in a make-shift triage center on a gurney which had been rolled into a shadowy corner of the tent. He stared at the ceiling. He was alive, but felt no joy; his heart was slowly filled with a boiling cauldron of black dark sludge. He heard the crackle of a radio playing nearby. Out of the darkness rose a woman’s faint, but urgent plea: “You can still rise with us.” And right before losing her grip on the microphone, she said, “Remember, when you’re lost in the darkness, look for the light. Believe in the Fireflies.”_

And Joel turned painfully onto his side, away from the voice.


	6. Chapter Six

Although the details of his recurrent nightmare varied now and again, the outcome was always the same.

He and Sarah were at the movies. They had just settled into their seats when the lights in the auditorium lowered, and the silver screen before them came to life. He glanced over at his daughter. She wore a huge smile partially obscured by the bucket of popcorn in her eager hands. She was dressed in her plaid pajamas and pale blue tee. Her bright blue eyes were filled with excited anticipation; Joel wanted to feel that anticipation too, but it kept giving way to a nagging sense of dread.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. As the movie started, their seats began to rumble. At first, Joel assumed it was all part of the show, but the rumbling grew louder and the shaking more violent and he knew something was terribly wrong.

He glanced at Sarah. She had this strange look in her eye, a mischievous grin, as if she were in on a private joke. Everyone else in the theater screamed in excited laughter; only Joel felt a horrible misgiving. He wanted to get up, but his body remained frozen in his seat. He glanced around him and saw frenzied faces laughing hysterically. The dread was closing in on him along with the walls and ceiling of the theater. 

The laughter grew to a feverish pitch and the theaters seats were now wildly bucking. Finally, he could stand no more and stood up, and without thinking, he grabbed Sarah’s arm in an attempt to leave but was surprised when she violently yanked away from his grip.

In confusion, he turned to look at her - and this was always the worst part of his dream - he saw his daughter’s eyes. They were cold and dark and filled with hatred.

His body shuddered as the cold finger of death traced its way down Joel’s spine. Sarah stared up at him as a dark red circle of blood blossomed on her chest, and she glared at him with cold, lifeless eyes. Her smile turned into a horrible grimace and she screamed at him at the top of her lungs: “WHY DIDN’T YOU SAVE ME?”

The panic threatened to drown Joel and he fought for air, viciously clawing his way to the surface of consciousness. His body bolted upright and his lungs panted for oxygen. Cold beads of sweat formed on his forehead. His shirt and jeans felt damp, his entire body compressed. Sleep had become the worst part of his daily existence; the nightmares forcing him to relive that terrible night nearly twenty years ago.

He found himself fully clothed on a worn mattress in a dark room with the blinds - bent and broken - closed. A gray morning light struggled to shine through them. He heard the hollow knocking in the hallway, and his mind struggled to make sense of it. It wasn’t a dream; someone was outside in the hallway, knocking on the door to his apartment.

He sat on the edge of the bed, still grappling with the visions that lingered behind his eyes. He sighed heavily, then rose achingly to his feet. After a couple of steps his body wavered, and he leaned against the door frame to find his footing and clear his head. 

The knocking at the door persisted.

“I’m coming,” he called out irritably.

He shuffled out of the bedroom and across the kitchen toward the front door. The apartment was dirty and dank, it smelled of mildew and rotted wood. Stained cardboard boxes, empty pails and a propane tank sat in one corner of the room. Joel sucked in another breath and arched his back, letting the bones crack into place. He flipped the lock and opened the door, then released a heavy sigh at the sight of his early morning visitor.

Tess McGee.

She entered without waiting for his invitation.

“How was your morning?” she asked, but her tone lacked the friendliness the words implied.

She wore a tight maroon shirt, stained and ripped, with the tails out. The sleeves had been discarded long ago. Underneath was a dark gray tee-shirt that had, at one time, been a different color. Her raven hair was swept back from her face in a make-shift ponytail. Most noticeable was the purple bruise the size of a fist just below her right eye.

She went straight for the bottle of whiskey on the table in the kitchen and poured herself a shot. Joel hung back, watching her, waiting for her to explain it to him.

“Want one?” she asked casually, as if it were perfectly natural this early in the morning.

“No,” he said irritably. “I don’t ‘want one’.”

She made a ‘suit-yourself’ gesture and took a drink. As Joel turned away, the irritation within him grew. Tess leaned against the kitchen table and the tone in her voice softened.

“Well, I have some interesting news for you.”

“Where were you, Tess?” he interrupted, feeling irritation blossom into anger.

She regarded him coolly for a moment. The space between them filled with silence.

“West End district,” she said finally. And before Joel’s temper erupted, she added by way of explanation, “Hey, we had a drop to make.”

“We,” he said emphatically. “We had a drop to make.” He snatched a wet rag off the kitchen counter and approached her.

“Yeah,” she said with a nod. “Well, you wanted to be left alone, remember?”

The early morning light from a gray-soaked sky seeped in through the windows of Joel’s dirty apartment. He handed her the wet dish towel and turned away.

“So, I’ll take one guess,” he said, his back to her. “The whole deal went south and the client made off with our pills.” With hands on the counter, he glanced back at her over his shoulder. “That about right?”

Tess laughed.

A moment passed as Joel waited for an explanation.

“The deal went off without a hitch.” She reached into her back pocket and threw a folded wad onto the table. “Enough ration cards to last us a couple of months, easy.”

Joel motioned to the ugly welt below her eye. “You want to explain this?”

Tess sighed. “I was on my way back here and I got jumped by these two assholes, all right?”

She put the wet cloth back against her cheek. “And yeah they got a few good hits in, but…”

Joel rested his hands on his hips and shook his head.

“Look, I managed,” she said, her tone defiant. 

Joel snatched the towel from Tess’s hand. “Gimme that.” He lifted her chin and, being as gentle as he could, dabbed away the dried blood from her wound. 

Tess flinched, but her eyes never left his.

“And are these assholes still with us?” he asked.

She snorted and smiled. “Now that’s funny,” she said.

He eased the towel away and examined her face by gently turning her chin. “Did you at least find out who they were?”

“Yeah. Look, they were a couple of nobodies.” She removed his hand from her face. “They don’t matter,” she said. She stood and jabbed a finger in Joel’s chest. “What matters is that Robert fucking sent them.”

Joel recoiled. “Our Robert?” he asked incredulous.

“He knows that we’re after him,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

A surge of anger shot through him. He pounded a fist into his palm and turned away.

Tess continued, “He figures he’s gonna get us first.” 

“That son-of-a-bitch is smart,” Joel said. He threw the dishrag on the counter to underscore his assessment.

“He’s not smart enough.”

There was something in her tone that caused him to hesitate. Tess leaned forward and whispered, “I know where he’s hiding.”

“Like hell you do,” he said, daring her to prove it.

Tess drifted toward the window. “Old warehouse in Area 5,” she said gleefully. She turned and spread her arms wide. “Can’t say for how long, though.”

Joel nodded to himself and motioned to the door. “Well I’m ready now,” he said.

“Oh I can do now,” Tess agreed.


	7. Chapter Seven

They were living in the dead carcass of a city, Boston, and although it was summer, the sky overhead hung low and gray. Armed soldiers in full riot gear patrolled the rooftops of buildings and they moved like apathetic ghosts, making their rounds, stirring up pigeons. For most soldiers, their spark of enthusiasm had died a long time ago. A rasping melancholy settled over the city, oppressing both captors and captives. Each of the buildings, like the city itself, had become a hollow shell: no power, no running water, just a refuge for the hollow-shelled survivors inside.

Grimy buildings, broken windows, trash lined streets. This was the world in which Joel and Tess lived.

Reminders of the old life existed, but they were few and far between. An American flag, worn and faded, hung limply from the side of a building. An occasional movie poster or playbill still survived on some of the brick walls. 

The world as it once was no longer existed. Within the few remaining quarantine zones left in the country, democratic rule had been replaced by military decree. The military, with its heart no longer in it, oversaw the day-to-day operations.

Two types of citizens lived under this new regime. The non-infected and the recently infected. The only way to distinguish the two was by use of a _thumper_ , an electronic scanning device that bumped up against the base of the skull and took a split-second seismic reading of the brain. If the waves didn’t bounce from front to back without obstruction, that meant something bad: the infection had taken root and was metastasizing the brain. The military had only one mandate in these cases: to eradicate the threat immediately.

The infected didn’t have rights. Even if the symptoms weren’t evident - it took one to two days for the recently infected to turn - or even misdiagnosed, the military had strict orders to put you down. Shooting was less desirable than lethal injection because ammunition had become scarce and was a necessity against armed rebellion. Potassium chloride was agonizingly more painful than a bullet to the head, but to those in charge, much more cost effective.

Ragged awnings, cracked pavement with weeds in between. In every corner, rotting garbage piled chest high. This is what surrounded Joel and Tess as they stepped out of the building, capped by a suffocating gray sky overhead.

Tess looked up at the sky, trying to gauge the position of the obscured sun. “The checkpoint’s still open,” she said.

The broken touchstone Joel wore on his wrist had forced him to develop a keen sense of time over the years too. “Only got a few hours left until curfew.”

“We better hurry up then.”

The corner near the alley was empty save for a man and woman in tattered clothes having a water-cooler discussion by an overfilled dumpster. The green trash bin was covered in graffiti. Above the dumpster was a weathered FEDRA notice warning residents about curfew hours and the consequences of violation. 

Joel caught the tail end of their conversation as he approached. 

“Wait, are you serious?” the guy asked with surprise in his voice. 

“I got served the damn papers this morning,” the woman sighed. “I’ve been selected for outside work duty.”

“That’s such crap. Soldiers are supposed to handle the outside.”

“I’ll be sure to tell them that.” She caught Joel in the corner of her eye. “What about you, Joel? You been summoned for this bullshit yet?”

He knew what the military was up to and wanted no part of it. “Nope,” he said simply.

“Yeah, I bet,” she said, laying on the sarcasm. No one trusted anyone in the zone. Everyone was on their guard. 

But the fact was, Joel had spoken the truth. 

Joel and Tess walked down a narrow alley between the two buildings and approached an open, wrought-iron gate. Someone had spray-painted the words SEEK THE FIRE on the side of one building and another FEDRA notice hung askew on the building facing the gate. As was common, most of the military warnings plastered here and there had been defaced. This particular one had the word FREE spray-painted over it in red. Graffiti in the zone was as common as the trash on the ground. 

The alley smelled bad; it reeked of human waste. 

This was what life in the zone had devolved to, if you could call it that. Weeds, overturned trash cans. Boarded windows. Most of the government warning signs bore the familiar Fireflies mark of rebellion: two back-to-back “F”s spray-painted in luminescent colors. Some bore the distinctive shape of an actual firefly.

They turned a corner. The main street stretched at the end of the alley and Joel could see an armed soldier patrolling the rooftop up above. As he entered the street, he noticed a short line of survivors behind a wire fence, with an armed guard blocking one end. Above the line was stretched an awning with the words RATION DISTRIBUTION CENTER printed in black faded letters.

A recording of a woman’s voice droned from overhead speakers: “Attention. Citizens are required to carry a current ID at all times. Compliance with all city personnel is mandatory.” The military had use of gas-powered generators to provide what little power it needed to keep the dwindling population under control. 

An armed Humvee in green camouflage paint raced through a puddle, spraying the sidewalk in dirty water.

Tess leaned tiredly against one of the concrete barricades and motioned to the line across the street. “Look at that,” she said. “Ration line hasn’t opened yet. Must be running low again.”

People in line fidgeted with visible irritation. A woman raised her voice: “Hey! How much longer?”

The guard sighed heavily. “Lady, when the rations arrive, we’ll open the door. All right?”

Joel and Tess turned to their right and headed up the street. To their left was a section of the street that was off-limits: wooden police barricades wrapped in barbed wire with armed guards in fatigues standing between them. Joel knew what this area of the street was used for and it made his stomach turn.

Just as they passed, several men in dingy white hazmat suits with gas masks and machine guns emerged from the door of the building behind the barricade. They ushered a handful of frightened citizens into the street and in short order forced them to their knees. “Hands on your fucking head,” ordered one of the men with gas masks. “Do it.” Then he turned to his associate and said, “All right. Scan ‘em.”

His associate then proceeded to check each one, placing the handheld thumper against the base of the skull. Joel watched, his intestines twisting into knots as he feared the worst.

The machine hummed, then beeped. “He’s clean,” spoke the masked man. He went to the next, and then the next. When he reached the third, a young frail woman, the machine’s tone sounded an alarm. “Got a live one.”

The men in suits shoved the woman to the ground as she squirmed underneath their grip. “I’m not infected,” she pleaded in a horrified voice. “It’s wrong! The scan’s wrong!”

“Hold her down!”

Moving with impassive efficiency, two soldiers did exactly that while a third administered the lethal injection. The woman’s body jerked spasmodically as her muscles and organs grappled with the flow of potassium chloride in the bloodstream. In a mere matter of seconds, cruelly, the battle was over.

Joel’s stomach churned with disgust.

The soldiers quickly resumed their duties, placing the thumper against the skull of the last remaining citizen.

But after having just witnessed this military brand of justice, the poor bastard pushed the scanner away and jumped to his feet. “Fuck this,” he cried. He made it two feet before shots rang out and bullets peppered his back.

Just a typical day in the city, thought Joel, as a wave of cynicism shuddered through him.

One of the remaining survivors trembled with fear and gasped, “Oh shit!”

“Shut up!” ordered the leader of the group. “Consider yourself lucky. That’s what happens when you hide out in a condemned building.” He turned back to his associate and poked the air. “Call the clean up crew.” 

One of the men in fatigues turned his attention to Joel and Tess. “All right, people. This isn’t a show. Keep moving along.”

Joel walked past the man lying in the street, stepping around the widening circle of blood.

Tess sidled up beside him and shook her head. “Seems like more people are getting infected.”

“That just means more people are sneaking out,” he said in a low voice.

He glanced up, past the concrete boundary of the zone with its tall guard towers and looked to the gray sky in the east, to what once was the Boston city skyline. It seemed surreal, like a Salvador Dali painting; buildings leaned against each other at impossible angles, seemingly in defiance of gravity.

They approached the main gate just as another Humvee came to a halt and a helmeted soldier in fatigues scurried out from behind the wheel. Up top was a female soldier with her arm resting on an M2 .50 caliber machine gun. She spoke to the man now on the ground. “They fuckin’ lynched them,” she said.

“The entire squad?” the driver asked.

“Yeah. Way I heard it, they lined them up in the street and cut ‘em up. Retribution and shit.”

Joel edged toward the gate slowly, rounding a large puddle of water. His curiosity was piqued but he didn’t want to attract any attention.

“We ever lose control of this place to the stragglers, that’s what will happen to us.” 

_Stragglers_. A cute term for the way the military viewed Joel and the others: just a bunch of troublesome inferiors waiting for their turn to die.

“That will never go down here,” the driver assured her. Army trucks rumbled in the distance. “Any straggler even looks at me the wrong way, I put his ass down.” His eyes met Joel’s and they held each others’ gaze before the man looked away.

The female soldier snorted. “I’m sure that’s what they thought at every other QZ before riots broke out.”

“It’s those goddamn Fireflies,” the driver said excitedly. “They keep stirring the population up. We put an end to them. That’s how you solve this shit.”

“We agree on that,” the gunner said with a nod. And then, spotting the straggler, she spun the machine gun in Joel’s direction, a defiant challenge shimmering in her eyes.

Joel grunted and moved away toward the gate. The time for that battle would come, he told himself. All in due time.

Tess was hanging back near the checkpoint, waiting for him.

“I got us all new papers,” she said as he approached. “They shouldn’t give us any static up there.”

The checkpoint was a wide, double-gated barricade large enough for military grade trucks in the center and pedestrians on the right. An armed guard patrolled the walkway overhead. An American flag hung loosely from a pole at the top of a guard tower where spotlights had been affixed to the hand railing. Just beyond the checkpoint lie the main plaza surrounded by more of the same decrepit buildings.

They walked past the orange and white barrels marking the entrance to the checkpoint and Tess turned to Joel and whispered, “Just play it cool.”

The diesel engine of a camouflaged truck grumbled as the checkpoint guard waved an arm at the driver. “Drive on through,” he ordered.

Joel approached the guard dressed in full riot gear as he turned casually to Tess, motioning for the papers. Tess handed him the two passports without saying a word.

“Let me see your IDs,” the guard said tiredly. He had deep circles under his eyes, his face sagged with exhaustion.

“There you go,” Joel said, placing the passports into the soldier’s gloved hand. The man’s other hand loosely held an M-16 pointed downward. As Joel waited, he considered the soldier. The man looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

The man looked at the papers with unfocused eyes, forcing himself through the motions. “What’s your business here?” he asked. In his tone was a zero lack of interest.

“Got the day off,” Joel replied. “Visiting a friend.”

The guard nodded. “All right. Move on through.”

And just as the guard stepped aside to let Joel and Tess pass, an explosion ripped through the diesel truck that had just cleared the outer checkpoint gate.

“Oh shit!” cried Tess as they recoiled from the blast, hands instinctively going to their ears. A searing blast of heat swept past Joel as the ground beneath his feet trembled. He felt a fishhook snag his arm belong the elbow and threaten to rip it loose. His body felt on fire and a painful ringing stung his ears.

“Get out of here!” the guards shouted. “Go!” 

The men rolled the gate closed as orange flames engulfed the truck. Joel was still recovering from the blast as the world spun madly around him. As he regained his senses, he turned and saw a machine gun battle erupt beyond the gate. Above the ringing in his ears he heard the muffled cry of a guard: “Close it up! Fireflies!”

He felt a bullet whistle past him and then the gentle touch of a hand upon his throbbing arm. It was Tess. Although he couldn’t hear, he could see she was pleading with him to get the hell away.

“Joel,” she said, her voice sounding as if he were submerged underwater. “Come on! Let’s get out of here!”


	8. Chapter Eight

It took a moment for Joel to regain his senses. Behind him a gun battle raged on; the Fireflies had struck again. Up ahead, Tess sprinted away, heading toward the dilapidated tenement building across the street. Holding his wounded elbow against his side, he followed. From the speakers overhead, the woman’s unaffected voice droned over the loudspeakers: “All civilians must clear the surrounding area immediately.”

He ran past the orange and white barrels propped high on old tires, sloshing his way through a deep puddle in the street. To his right was a building that was tattooed with the familiar red & white _WANTED_ signs of half a dozen known leaders of the Fireflies.

The Humvee from earlier drifted into position, the muzzle of the .50 caliber machine gun following Joel’s movement. It wasn’t safe to be on the street in this situation - soldiers shot first and asked questions never. Tess knew this, which is why she was running so fast.

“Goddamn Fireflies,” he cursed under his breath.

“Joel!” she scolded. “Let’s go! C’mon!”

As they turned up the street, Joel saw other residents quickly disappearing into buildings, like roaches caught in a flashlight’s beam. Tess was fast - she was fifty yards in front and headed toward the steps leading to an entrance in the far tenement building.

She reached the steps of the entrance and stopped to catch her breath. “Looks like the coast is clear,” she said. She headed up the steps toward the heavy double doors. “C’mon.”

Joel jogged up the steps just as the monotone recording repeated: “Attention. Checkpoint Five is now closed until further notice. All civilians must clear the surrounding area immediately.” Tess was holding the door open for him and he ducked inside.

He followed her into the darkened hallway, closing the door behind him. Tess turned and looked at him. She sighed. “Fuck. So much for the easy route.”

They were in a quiet lobby of an old apartment building; minimal power, paint-chipped walls, the smell of rotting wood. The large checkered tile beneath their feet was dingy and gray. Some of the doors in the hallway were barricaded with the familiar military locks: iron bars that expanded into door frames in both directions, with an Army placard in the center bearing a unique ID number and a warning not to intrude.

Tess saw the nasty gash just below Joel’s elbow. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said. Thankfully whatever had grazed him had missed the bone, but it sure stung like hell. “Just a flesh wound.”

Tess pulled a small roll of gauze from her back pocket. “Here,” she said, handing it to him. “Patch yourself up.”

Joel took the roll and nodded. He quickly dropped to one knee and wound the gauze around his forearm, pulling it tight. When he was done, he used his teeth to rip the gauze free, then rose and handed the roll back to Tess. The whole affair took less than a minute.

“Good,” she said, nodding with satisfaction.

She turned and headed down the hall. “They’re gonna close all the checkpoints. We’re gonna have to go around the outside.” She turned to her left and headed down another dark hallway. A dim bulb flickered overhead.

Joel wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Outside the wall?” Two things immediately sprung to mind: trigger-happy soldiers and flesh-ripping infected. Neither filled him with confidence.

“Or,” Tess said, giving him another choice, “we could just let Robert go.”

Joel grunted and said, “Cute.” They both knew _that_ wasn’t an option.

As they approached the end of the hall, a dark figure rose from a chair. The faint light overhead shimmered on the black man’s glasses. It was Lawrence, one of the tenement building’s younger residents. Joel knew him vaguely.

“Hey Tess,” he said, falling in step with her. “You see that shit?”

“I was there,” Tess said simply and without bravado.

As they walked down the hallway together with Joel lagging a few feet behind, Tess looked at the young man and asked, “Hey, how’s the east tunnel looking?”

“It’s clear. I just used it. No patrols.”

The trio rounded another corner, this time to their right. A fire extinguisher hung on the wall.

“Where you off to?” Lawrence asked.

“Gonna pay Robert a visit.”

They entered a long hallway. Dark shadows interspersed with pale light. A ceiling fan turned slowly up ahead. The entire hallway appeared eerie and almost completely vacant. Another extinguisher hung askew near the corner.

“You too?”

Tess hesitated and her eyes narrowed. “Who else is looking for him?”

“Uh, Marlene. She’s been asking around, trying to find him.”

“Marlene?” There was incredulity in her voice. “What do you the Fireflies need with Robert?”

The young man snorted. “You think she’d tell me?”

Joel noticed another resident sitting in a chair against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. This one appeared to be either sleeping or comatose. Joel couldn’t have cared less either way. A wire cage sat beside him. Inside were a handful of pigeons gently cooing.

“Well, what did you tell her?” Tess seemed unfazed by this other man’s presence.

“The truth. I got no idea where he’s hiding,” Lawrence replied.

“Good man,” she said. “Hey, you stay out of trouble, all right? Military’s gonna be out in force soon.”

“Yeah,” Lawrence replied. “See you around.” He walked a few feet further and then took a position by leaning beside one of the locked doors, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. Joel met his gaze as he walked by and said nothing. Joel lived by one simple rule: the less friends you had in the zone, the better.

He and Tess walked along in silence, approaching another turn. Joel lagged a few feet behind her in her shadows.

Once alone again, Tess spoke as she turned left down another hallway. Her voice was low: “Marlene looking for Robert? What do you make of that?”

“I don’t like it,” Joel grumbled. “We better find him before the Fireflies do.” He could still hear the warning sounds from the emergency alarm wailing outside the walls of the building.

Finally they reached the end of the hallway. An old sofa cushion, stained and mildewed, sat against the far wall. To Joel’s immediate left was an open doorway. Tess strolled inside without knocking and Joel followed her.

They entered an apartment with sparse furnishings. Windows lined the far walls, their dingy glass partially obscured by broken levolor blinds. A small wooden table squatted against the wall to the right, sporting a few plates and bowls. The walls were in the same dilapidated condition as the hallways: marred by peeling paint and water stains. The wooden floor was warped in places and littered with debris.

In the center of the living room was a pale area rug, a worn leather sofa and a gray loveseat. The apartment was occupied by a sole resident sitting alone on the edge of the sofa. Behind the loveseat stood a battered mahogany bookshelf showcasing a busted television, and nailed to the wall beside it, for entertainment, a dartboard.

Tess approached the man without a hint of concern. “This is us,” she said to Joel, exhaling.

The man on the sofa sat with his hands in his lap and looked up from a fog of either drugs or alcohol. “Hey guys. How’s it going?” he asked, a slight slur to his words. He didn’t bother to stand.

“Shit’s stirring up out there,” Tess replied. Joel was near the window and could hear the sirens still blasting their alarm. “How we looking over here?”

“Ah,” the man said, scratching his stubbled chin with dirty fingernails. “It’s been quiet. No signs of military or infected.” The man’s eyes lifted to Joel’s. They regarded each other a beat before the man glanced away.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Tess said, her tone cheery.

The man made a vague gesture to the entertainment center behind the weather-stained sofa. Joel waited for the man to acknowledge his presence but the stranger avoided his gaze. The air was thick with an uncomfortable silence; there was something about this _friend_ of Tess Joel didn’t like. He wished she was as guarded as he had become. It only took one loose pair of lips for the military to make damn sure neither of them were heard from again.

Joel moved toward the mahogany case. Ripped through the drywall and wooden slats behind it gaped a jagged hole, big enough for a man to step through and barely hidden by the edges of the bookcase. Tess took up position on one end of the entertainment center and motioned Joel to the other.

“Joel, gimme a hand with this.”

He gripped the edge of the heavy piece of furniture and together they slid it out of the way. The books on the top of the shelf fell and an empty bottle tumbled onto its side.

As Tess stepped through the hole and disappeared into darkness, he heard the man on the sofa snort. “Y’all take it easy out there.”

Joel didn’t reply but the hairs on his neck rose and sent a feeling of dread throughout his body. He jumped through the hole and fell into a pit of blackness.

He felt Tess’s presence beside him.

“God,” she gasped. “This place reeks! They need to watch what they throw away down here.”

They swam in a sea of darkness. A disgusting Molotov aroma of sour milk, human waste and rotting wood filled his nostrils. He could feel the gag in his throat rising.

In the distance, a gas-powered, single-stroke engine purred. The generator. He heard Tess reach for the light switch and flick it on, and in the next instant the underground basement was filled with light. Joel squinted, raising a hand to shield his eyes.

“Let there be light,” Tess pronounced.

Concrete floor, wooden tables. Iron beams embedded within the brick walls. He followed Tess around the corner into a room to her right. Now they were crawling through a makeshift tunnel, a shielded industrial lamp pulsed with light above their heads.

“Let’s grab our gear,” Tess said.

A concrete pipe waist high stretched across the entrance to the next room. Electrical cables hung low, suspended from beams in the ceilings. The place looked like a mining operation from the old west. Joel wondered how long the wooden pillars would forestall the inevitable cave in that was sure to come.

He vaulted himself over the concrete pipe and soon found himself in the middle of a small workshop with metal shelves, wooden tables, toolboxes and parts bins. A few weathered maps and posters were affixed to the walls.

“Our backpacks are still here from last time,” stated Tess, seeing them on the workbench.

Joel approached the bench and took stock of his belongings. A weather-beaten, leather backpack with worn straps, a clip-on flashlight, a gas mask with one working canister. He picked up the compact 9mm automatic handgun, racked the slide. He hit the eject button and a magazine popped into his waiting hand.

“Not a lot of ammo,” he sighed.

“Well,” replied Tess. “Make your shots count.”

Always the optimist, Joel snickered to himself. He slung the backpack across his shoulders and followed Tess to a scaffolding covered with a ragged gray tarp and plywood.

“All right, Texas,” she said, turning to Joel with a mischievous grin. “Boost me up.”

Joel shoved the pistol into his back pocket and tiredly took up his position, back to the wall, body crouched low, hands forming a stirrup just above his bent knee.

“You ready?” Tess asked, as she prepared to place her foot into his cupped hands.

“Yes ma’am,” Joel replied. He’d become used to his role as a makeshift ladder.

With a running start, Tess leapt agilely into his grip and in one smooth move Joel hoisted her up above his head. Years of practice had made the two of them practically experts at this maneuver. She grabbed the edge of the scaffolding and, with a grunt of effort, scampered over the ledge.

Joel waited for her head to reappear. She lowered a hand to him, bracing the other against her knee. “C’mon,” she said, her tone brusque. Joel guessed the idea of lifting a hundred and eighty pound man with a single arm was less than appealing.

He took a step back and, like Tess, got a running start. He jumped high so as to make her job easier. She grabbed his hands in hers and grunted. Joel felt her muscles strain as she gathered all her strength and pulled him up to the ledge.

He managed to get one hand on the ledge and then used his strength to pull himself up, aided by Tess grabbing him by the arm. Finally he climbed his way up, grunting from the exertion. With a sigh he rose to his feet. Tess’s face was flush from the effort. The two looked at each other and nodded.

Without a word, Joel slipped past her, heading to the exit of the tunnel just up above. A large wooden door had been propped to conceal the exit and he pushed it up now, motioning for Tess to climb underneath it.

“Go on,” he told her.

She scampered through the gap and grabbed the edge of the door.

“Got it,” she said, holding it up for him.

Joel slipped underneath it and then replaced her grip on the door, easing it down. They were now out of the tunnel and one step closer to the outside.


	9. Chapter Nine

They stood in the middle of an old pizza parlor with a brick wall decor. Sagging posters, like a portly chef tossing pizza dough, hung above a row of wooden booths with cracked and discolored green vinyl padding. An old jukebox aged stoically by the front entrance. The floor was littered with debris and the windows facing the street were mostly broken. The place smelled of rotted wood and decay but nearby, just outside, the promise of something more refreshing beckoned.

Tess moved heedlessly toward the doorless front entrance, to the open air beyond.

“Be careful,” Joel reminded her.

They lived in a world where terror lay hidden around every corner waiting to pounce. There was no such thing as being _too_ careful.

“When am I not?” Tess quipped over her shoulder.

Joel snorted. For a woman, Tess was an interesting dichotomy: delicate features with a deadly physique. When it came to his partner however, caution wasn’t a quality that sprang readily to mind. And so it was with a hint of sarcasm that Joel asked, “Is that a trick question?”

As Tess approached the exit, the late afternoon sun cast a long shadow of her slender body behind her. Joel followed her shadow out of the parlor, out into the real world.

He stepped into the open air and sucked in a deep breath. The sensation of clean air filled his lungs. It was a good feeling and long overdue.

Relieved, Joel looked around. He stood in the middle of what was once a quaint neighborhood now overgrown with thick vegetation. Nearby him, an iron parking meter rose incongruously from the shrubs, and across from him sat an old rusted pickup truck cradled in a bed of lush ivy. Everywhere you looked, the natural earth was in the midsts of consuming the things of man.

The street before them had collapsed into a sinkhole and the passage of time had turned the once suburban setting into a miniature green valley. Just beyond the surrounding ivy-covered fence to his right loomed empty buildings of brick and mortar, aging in the waning sun. Directly across was an abandoned four-story tenement building with half its roof missing. The walls of the building were war-torn; pockmarked with gaping holes where vegetation had successfully taken root.

Sagging power lines crisscrossed overhead.

“Ain’t been out here in awhile.”

“It’s like we’re on a date,” Tess replied jokingly.

“Well, I _am_ the romantic type.”

They walked around the sinkhole, heading for the abandoned tenement building.

“You got your ways,” she conceded.

Joel threaded his way past a fallen brick chimney and a rusted pickup truck, his eyes scouring the ground around them.

“Where’s the ladder?” Tess asked impatiently.

“It’s gotta be around here somewhere,” Joel replied.

Tess pointed to a patch of high grass off to his right. “Hey, try that area over there.”

Joel spotted it lying in the thick grass. “Got it!”

“Great,” Tess said, her tone brisk. “Bring it over.”

Joel bent down and scooped up the ladder in his hands. The twelve foot ladder wasn’t light by any means and Joel grunted from the effort as he headed toward the wall where Tess stood waiting.

He carefully placed it up against the brick wall just under the gaping hole in the second floor of the tenement building and stood aside.

“Ladies first.”

“Lady?” Tess snorted as she ascended the ladder. “You must be thinking of someone else.”

Joel chuckled to himself. “It’s all relative,” he said, following her up the ladder and into the apartment.

“This way,” Tess said, turning toward the interior of the building.

They had emerged into what was once a lounge, with a billiards table, loveseats, bookcases. Bricks and plaster and grime covered the mildewed carpet punctuated by stained upholstered furniture.

The floor was uneven as Joel traipsed across it. Tess led him into a kitchen area where a countertop was littered with even more refuse. By force of habit, Joel quickly went through the kitchen drawers looking for anything useful. He scooped up a few nuts and bolts and dropped them into his pocket. Light from the outside made it easy to see, but after they turned from the kitchen and made their way deeper inside the abandoned dwelling, the place grew dark and cold.

Joel flicked on the flashlight affixed to the strap on his backpack.

Now they were in a room that had recently served as sleeping quarters for a dozen or so souls. Bare mattresses, some on double iron bunks, sat worn and stained. A half dozen more partially covered the wooden floor. Vegetation fought its way into the room past the broken windows. On one of the walls, Joel spotted a pair of red spray-painted wings: the familiar Fireflies symbol. Glancing around, he caught a glimpse of a silver pendant on a nearby desk: the Fireflies dog tag. He concluded a contingent of Fireflies had taken up residence here not long ago. But now the place looked as though it had been abandoned for some time.

Tess was standing patiently at the top of a broken stairway leading down to the floor below them. “Down through here,” she said.

Joel followed her down, jumping a short distance to the ground.

Almost immediately his senses went into high alert as he detected a stark change in his immediate surroundings.

Darkness closed in around them. The smell of rot and mildew clogged his sinuses. There was something else in the air, something dangerously familiar, but he tried not to focus on it.

“You think Robert’s still got our guns?” Tess asked, her focus still clearly on the task at hand.

Joel was temporarily grateful for the distraction. “For his sake, he better.”

He was following her through the ruins of the apartment, past sagging wallpaper soiled with mildew, past the aged remnants of upholstered furniture. The flashlight cast a circle of light around Tess as her shadow flickered before her as if it had a mind of its own.

“Look, once we get our merchandise back,” she reassured him, “it should be easy to unload.”

“Speaking of merchandise, when’s that next shipment due?”

They continued down a long hallway, past a pale rusted radiator. Large chunks of plaster from the ceiling overhead covered much of the carpeted flooring.

“Well, we’re meeting Bill next month. More pills. Lots of ammo. Supposedly.”

As Tess reached the end of the hallway she froze in her tracks and her body went rigid.

“Hold up!” she whispered, and then a word escaped her lips, a single word that conveyed the terror of the world they lived in. “Spores,” she said simply.

In a flash, the two intrepid explorers swiped the gas masks off the lanyards hanging from their backpacks. In the next instant, they were adjusting them to the contours of their faces.

Joel released a disgruntled sigh. He didn’t like having to put the thing on. It pulled his hair out by the roots and restricted his vision. It was suffocating, like wearing a catcher’s mitt.

They were in a small section of the building surrounded by brick walls where a large wooden door at the far end lay open. Spores gasped out of the doorway like the thick hot breath of some giant demon.

Joel approached cautiously and entered through the doorway.

As his flashlight beam darted around the room, Joel saw the various canvas clothes bins and realized they had entered the laundry room. He noticed the air was choked with thick motes of green bacteria hanging in the lifeless air.

On one side of the room stood a few bare tables and against the other, a bank of coin-operated dryers. To his right, a small gaping hole had been ripped through the brick wall.

“Where the hell are all these comin’ from? Place was clear last time.”

“They’re coming outta something,” Tess said. “Stay alert.” Although she didn’t need to say it, the words sent a chill down Joel’s spine. He felt a bead of sweat edge down the inside of his mask.

Looking around the laundry room, Joel eyed the gaping hole at the base of the wall to his right. Beyond, the air was thick with floating bacteria. He had to crouch to make his way through.

At the sight of his approach, a few rats cursed him and scurried out of the hallway. Joel saw the source of the spores right away: the decaying figure of a dead man sitting upright with his back against the wall.

“There’s our culprit,” Joel said in a cursed whisper. The ceiling was low here and the two of them had to remain crouched with their knees practically against their chests.

Joel regarded the source of the bacteria. An odd growth sprouted from the man’s shoulders and hips, ripping through the worn fabric of his clothes. The unnatural substance merged with a splatter of thicker bacterial growth on the wall behind him. The growth was flesh-colored; dense with dark purples veins pulsing through it. Joel forced back a growing revulsion from the pit of his stomach.

He felt Tess’s sudden presence as she came up close behind him to get a better look.

“Body’s not that old,” she whispered. “Better keep your eyes and ears open.”

Joel nodded. Tess was right. Although she hadn’t said it, the implication was there: Where there was one infected, there were likely to be more, like the pair of rats that scurried away at his approach. He knew they were likely entering a nest, a hive of the infected. He was sure Tess knew it too, although she didn’t state it, and they both knew there was no way they were turning back now.

With his heart pounding in his chest, Joel continued on…

He led the way around a corner, keeping himself crouched, moving with a slow but fixed determination. The passage was blocked by a wooden beam crossing their path.

“We should be able to fit through here,” Joel said, taking the beam into his grip with the notion of pulling it aside. But as soon as he nudged it he realized he’d made a mistake: the ceiling above him collapsed, raining debris down upon his head and ears. He reflexively curled up tight to shield himself. As the dust settled, he opened his eyes and realized there was no harm done. He silently cursed himself for letting his emotions get the better of him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Joel replied. “Damn ceiling’s falling apart. Be careful.”

He rose to his feet, regaining his senses. “This way,” he said, turning his body sideways and edging through a long but narrow gap between a set of gray file cabinets and the wall. “Easy.”

Joel heard a man’s cough and felt something grab his foot. He jerked away reflexively. “Jesus!”

As Tess made her way into the room, Joel guided her past the man lying on the floor. “Watch it! Watch it!”

“Help me…”

With Tess safely behind him, Joel took a moment to focus on the man at their feet. He pointed the light of the flashlight down.

He was a bald man, trapped under a heavy metal filing cabinet, wearing a hooded leather jacket and a gas mask with a missing eye piece.

“My mask broke,” the man declared in a calm and steady voice.

With the light of the flashlight on the man’s shiny skull, Joel confirmed the man’s assessment was accurate.

The man struggled under the weight of the cabinet. “Don’t… Don’t leave me to turn. Please.” He let out another rasping cough and Joel knew the man’s lungs were now full of the deadly bacteria that hung in the air.

He heard Tess take up a position behind him. “What do you want to do?” she asked in a hushed whisper.

Joel knew there was only one thing to do. He applied the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. He pulled the revolver out from its resting place against the small of his back, pointed it at the man’s skull and pulled the trigger. The gunshot rang in his ears and reverberated throughout the room.

“Poor bastard,” lamented Tess.

Joel nodded. It was time to move on.

They entered a narrow hallway and moved slowly. Without warning, one of the wooden planks blocking the far doorway fell.

“Up ahead, you hear that?” Tess asked in a strained whisper.

Joel shushed her as the hairs on the back on his neck stood at attention. He had a fair idea of what lie waiting for them just around the corner.

He glued himself against the wall, placing his ear to the surface to listen. What he heard sent chills raking down his spine. He made out the distinct moans of at least a half dozen infected. Their bodies jerked and spasmed, and with each painful twitch, they released an agonizing cry of torment.

He heard footsteps of the insane racing past and then abruptly halting to a stop. This was followed by more of their agonized panting and screeching.

“How you wanna handle it?” Tess asked.

Joel knew the advantage he had in sneaking up on his prey and that was precisely what he intended to do. Strength and stealth were on his side, so long as the odds remained one on one.

He left the cover and safety of the hallway, entered the room slowly, keeping his head low, and approached one of the infected, a tormented man whose body twitched and spasmed uncontrollably.

Quietly he approached, and when he gauged the distance to be accurate, Joel rose to his feet quickly, wrapping an arm tight across the man’s windpipe.

Joel dropped to one knee, bringing the infected down with him, squeezing with every ounce of strength he had, crushing his victim’s windpipe, using his other arm as additional leverage. The man’s body jerked in response as desperate hands flailed at Joel’s head trying to find a grip, but Joel was careful to keep his head back and out of reach of the man’s hopeless grasp.

In a matter of moments, it was over. Joel let the lifeless corpse slide from his arms to the floor where it remained motionless. Its suffering - for now - had ended.

He turned another corner, saw a pair of stalkers in the dense mote-laden air feasting violently upon the flesh of a recent victim.

“Jesus,” he heard himself gasp. Deciding to leave well enough alone, he crept quietly past them, the blood-soaked carpet sinking like mush under his weight.

Up ahead to his left was a staircase, the stairs leading down negated by a blockade of metal filing cabinets.  Up was the only option, and so it was up he went.

The wooden stairs were clear so as he reached the landing he quickly rounded them and proceeded to the next floor. He found himself in a room with light coming in from a broken wall leading to the outside. Large planks covered a gaping hole in the floor and the room showed signs of lush vegetation taking root.

This was the way out but it wasn’t time just yet to exit the building. To his left Joel noticed a closed door. Years of survival had taught him the importance of searching his surroundings for anything useful and so it was now his instincts led him to the door.

On his left stood a water cooler and a pair of file cabinets, their drawers all ajar. He approached the door, still crouched, still moving slowly. He entered and found himself inside a small office containing a pair of cubicles, a worn sofa and a small table. It was there he saw the folded, stained letter sitting on the table:

> Hey Brother,
> 
> We were so close. I’m sitting outside the walls knowing I’ll never see the inside of the zone. While waiting for the smuggler to show up, we heard a squad of soldiers approaching. In our panic, we ducked into this building in hopes of hiding from them. None of us noticed the spores until it was too late. We’re all infected - we have a few hours, maybe a day at most. I hope the smuggler is still coming so that I can at least pass this note to you.
> 
> I should’ve listened to you and come to the zone with you when I had the chance.
> 
> Now it’s too late.
> 
> Take care,
> 
> \- Mark

Joel read the letter and understood. The only way to enter a zone nowadays was to be smuggled in, and once inside, pray you were never asked to show your identity papers. He also knew soldiers were ordered to shoot on sight. There was no way to play it safe, not in the world they lived in. You took your chances with every passing day, and prayed like hell your luck would hold. In the case of the man who wrote this letter, his lucky streak had ended. That was all there was to it.

A fleeting thought crossed Joel's mind: was this the poor devil whose windpipe he had crushed? He wondered...

With Tess close behind him, Joel left the office and made his way quietly across the planks leading to the outside. He could see just below him through the gaping hole in the floor the pair of infected ripping the flesh from the bones of their victim. Any noise now would cause them to look up and see them.

The outside wall was covered in vines, like the opening of a jungle cave. Joel jumped the short distance from the wall and landed back out in the open air. A moment later, Tess landed beside him. Together they removed their masks.

“Alright,” Tess said. “That’s all of them.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Tess scurried across a shallow pond of green scum bracketed by broken cement. An ancient basketball hoop without a net hovered near a twisted metal fence.

“Let’s head back to the city.”

Joel followed her through the open gate, leaving the dilapidated tenement building behind.


	10. Chapter Ten

“Ahhh, some fresh air.” 

Tess lifted her chin and took in a deep breath.

They had reached the outskirts of the city. A large concrete barrier forty feet tall formed an impenetrable wall along the perimeter of the zone, filling in the gaps between buildings where necessary. The structure had been constructed years ago, and now was covered in vines and streaked with mold and scum. 

There was the windowless shell of a city bus nearby. A horse trailer. A rusted old sedan. Joel looked up at the wall of concrete and sighed. Little good it did at keeping people in - and worse at keeping the infected out.

The edge of the concrete wall was covered in moss and ivy where it met the side of a four-story brick building, an abandoned warehouse, that had most of its windows broken. It was through the warehouse that smugglers - and people like themselves - slipped in and out.

A pond of scum water pooled at the base of the warehouse and there were several metal drums lying around on wooden pallets.

“That’s the one thing I love about the outside,” Tess continued. “Fuckin’ hate the smell of the city.”

Ivy crept up the walls of the building, entered through the broken windows. The city bus was practically consumed by the lush overgrowth.

“Why don’t you ask Bill to get you some of them air fresheners?” Joel asked.

“Hey, if they weren’t expired, that’d be a good idea.”

The lowest windows of the warehouse were too high to reach, even with a tall ladder. Tess headed toward an innocuous wooden pallet propped up against the brick wall, mostly covered in vines. There was nothing special about this particular pallet; several were lying around, propped up here and there. As they approached, it became apparent that this one in particular concealed a large gaping hole in the brick wall at the base of the warehouse.

Tess grabbed one end of the pallet and pried it open. It seemed to be hinged on the other side with overgrowth and vegetation.

“Through here,” she said. “Cover the entrance.”

“I got it.” 

Joel knew the routine. He entered the building, grabbed hold of the edge of the pallet and pulled the makeshift door shut. 

They were inside the ruins of an abandoned warehouse now. A tree had taken root inside and was now covered in ivy, as was most of the surrounding structure. The building appeared worn-torn, rubble and timber covered most of the ground. A catwalk, once suspended above, had fallen to the ground. The place smelled musty and ancient. On the ground floor were shelves filled with soiled cardboard boxes. The interior walls were pale bricks the color of chalk.

Tess climbed her way up to the second level with Joel following close on her heels.

On the second landing, Tess stood at the edge of a gap in the wooden floor, a gap far too wide to jump. She lowered herself to one knee.

“Damn it,” she said. “Plank fell down.”

Joel joined her at the edge and looked down. Sure enough, the large wooden plank that served as a bridge now stretched across the rubble-ridden floor.

“Be a dear, would you?” Tess smiled.

The unfamiliar tone in Tess’s voice caused Joel to chuckle. “I’ll get it.”

Joel looked around, scratching his head. He had to find a way down. He saw some planks on his left leading down to a concrete ledge and he used them to jump down to the ground. He made his way to the heavy plank, picked it up and glanced around for the best spot for Tess to easily grab it.

“Here, pass it to me,” Tess ordered, beckoning to him from the brick landing above.

“It’s a bit heavy,” Joel warned.

Tess scoffed. “I think I can handle it,” she said, and hoisted it up without effort.

“Alright,” Joel conceded.

Now he had to find a way back up. Looking around, he saw a small hole in the wall above a ledge that was waist high. He pulled himself up, ducked to his right and scampered up a ramp of weathered wooden planks. In the next moment he was climbing up to the second landing just in time to watch Tess lower the plank over the wide, jagged gap in the floor above.

“Get your ass up here,” Tess ordered. “Let’s move.” There was a sense of urgency in her voice.

“Bossy today,” Joel replied. He was about to add something else but thought better of it. He held his tongue as he made his way back up to her, following her through a large broken window in the corner that was framed by a matte pattern of weeds and ivy.

Now they were outside again, on a metal corrugated stairwell heading down. The stairwell stopped a few feet short of the ground and the two had to drop several feet to descend.

They hit the ground, grunting.

The two were back out in the open, only now they were on the other side of the wall. Joel felt a sense of precaution permeate throughout his body.

“Let’s make sure there aren’t any soldiers around,” he said.

Tess peeked around the narrow alley where they were headed before fully committing.

“It’s clear,” she said as she vaulted a low concrete barricade. “C’mon.”

Down another alley, and then ducking their heads under a collapsed fire escape covered in vines, they found themselves in a small concrete back-alley lot surrounded by tall brick buildings where the weeds and vines fought each other for dominance. Along the far wall of one of the buildings sat a decaying sofa with stained cushions. 

Tess took up a position near the building to Joel’s right, next to a metal door with a mesh window. She sighed impatiently waiting for Joel to catch up.

Once Joel was with her, she pushed the door open and entered. The room was dark as Joel followed her in.

“Shut it,” Tess ordered over her shoulder. She nodded to a few cartridges resting on the counter. “Pick up that ammo. I’m sure we’ll need it.”

Joel complied, then flicked on his flashlight and took a look around the room. 

They were in what was once the break room of some small office concern. There was a sink at one end of the kitchen countertop, and next to that, a coffee maker with a blackened urn still intact. A plain white refrigerator stood opposite. Nearby was a table with napkins and condiments, and next to that, an empty vending machine full of glass shards. In the corner next to an open door sat several bundles of cardboard boxes rotting with mildew.

Joel followed Tess through the door and into the next room. They were standing in the lobby of what was once a local business. A computer terminal sat at the far end of a counter for serving customers. There were a few wooden chairs sitting idly nearby... a waiting room. Joel vaguely wondered what service was once offered here. It was a fleeting thought that didn’t last long.

Tess climbed a small set of concrete steps to another door leading to the outside. Short rectangular windows revealed occupants milling about on the other side. She knocked gently, so as not to attract unwanted attention.

After a moment, the door opened. On the other side, a boy of about twelve stood wearing a baseball cap and sleeveless t-shirt: the local lookout.

“Hey, little man,” Tess said in a pleasant but quiet voice.

The boy recognized Tess, but didn’t speak.

“Make sure the coast is clear?” Tess asked, reaching into her back pocket for a small cache of ration cards.

The boy reached out his hand to take the cards, but Tess lifted them above his reach. “No soldiers,” Tess warned. “None of Robert’s men. Yeah?”

The kid hesitated a second before nodding to convey his understanding. He took the cards and closed the door. 

Tess folded her arms and leaned against the wall, sighing heavily.

“You know he’s expecting us,” Joel quipped.

“Well,” Tess said. “That’ll make it more interesting.”

Joel found himself nodding in agreement. In the next instant, a gentle rap sounded on the other side of the window. It was the kid serving as look-out.

Tess straightened. “Good to go. C’mon.”

She opened the heavy metal door and Joel followed her into what was a ragtag neighborhood of strays rejecting military rule. A makeshift fence served to cordon off the area and weeds sprang up through the cracked cement.  As they turned the corner, one of the vagrants with his back against the wall saw Tess and his face filled with recognition.

“Hey Tess, hey Tess,” he spoke, the words coming out fast, trying to grab her attention. “Hey, pretty lady,” he said, reaching out for her. “How you doin’ today? I heard you got some merchandise...”

Tess cut him off in mid-sentence. “Not right now, Terrance.”

The man was persistent. “No, no,” he said, reaching into his back pocket. “It’s good. I got the card…”

Tess spoke to him like she was scolding a child. “Not. Now. You hear me?” Even Joel felt a tinge of fear from her tone.

The man showed his palms. 

“Okay. I can do that,” he said. 

As Tess fell out of range of earshot, the man grumbled, “Don’t get all huffy-puffy about it,” causing Joel to chuckle to himself. He shook his head; Tess knew everyone it seemed. Out of the two of them, she was the social butterfly.

They were in the closest thing to a market square one could imagine. Here and there people manned tables and booths, lit by kerosene lanterns, hawking their wares. Onlookers kept to themselves, leaning against the walls, sticking to the shadows and watching Joel pass with suspicious eyes.

The afternoon sun was fading and in this section of the city, the tall buildings blocked what remained of direct sunlight. Grime and litter covered the ground. A permanent, melancholy haze seemed to have settled over the inhabitants here.

Joel approached a young woman behind a table piled high with old clothes and shoes.

“If you ain’t got ration cards,” she said in an exhausted voice, “don’t even waste my time. I’m not interested in bartering for bullets.”

He left the table and followed his nose over to where something appetizing sizzled on a kerosene grill. But as he approached, his stomach turned. He saw the “meat” hanging from a makeshift awning overhead. 

They were grilling rats.

“Hurry up,” one of the women in the short line exhaled. “We’re starving.”

The bearded man behind the grill turned the meat, sweat beading up on his forehead over the flames. “Keep your shirt on,” he said, equally exhausted. “Next batch comin’ right up.” 

Joel looked at the others in line and sighed. No one else seemed to have a picky stomach as they waited with the green ration card currency in hand. 

The woman nearest him shot Joel an angry glance. “Hey, don’t even think about cutting in line,” a sentiment shared by the large man in a black tank top beside her:  “Fuckin’ A. Been waiting on this rat forever.”

Joel didn’t. Instead, he shook his head, turned and left.

Loud barking to his right grabbed his attention. A gaunt man in a blue hoodie and gloves stood by a fenced gate. Behind him, in large letters on a cardboard sign were the words, “15 tickets each.”

As Joel approached, dogs behind the fence jumped excitedly. The man waved the newcomer away. “Sorry man. These dogs are all accounted for. Sold out in less than an hour. Try me next week.”

Joel’s stomach turned again. Thank God he and Tess had found other resources -  smugglers for one - and hadn’t needed to rely on dogs and rats for food. 

Tess was waiting for Joel and grinned at his outward display of revulsion. The two seemed capable of reading each other’s minds.

Joel proceeded down seller’s lane, passing store owners protecting their wares with baseball bats and giving him the evil eye. As he rounded a corner, a large black man rose to his feet, blocking his path. 

“You touch it, you buy it,” he warned and with that, he let the two pass.

A man with a young woman on his lap saw Tess and his hard features softened. “Tess, it’s been a while. You don’t visit us any more.”

Behind him, Joel didn’t hear his partner reply, but he did catch the reproachful remark from the woman sitting on his lap. 

“Who the hell is that?” she asked.

“None of your damn business,” the man replied with agitation.

If there were other walking avenues along the way, the men blocking them with iron pipes resting on their shoulders made it clear they weren’t open to the newcomers.

Eventually Joel made his way to the opened backend of a school bus, the only way to proceed. He climbed up and began to make his way through. Outside the slatted windows to his right he witnessed a bare-fisted match taking place in a makeshift arena, cheered on by a handful of spectators. He ignored the fight and continued on. The remaining glass windows were riddled with bullet holes.

A young turk seated near the front of the bus suddenly rose and blocked his path. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, sizing Joel up with nervous eyes. His talk was tough, but Joel knew the man lacked the muscle to back it up.

“Malick,” Tess said with exasperation in her voice. “Sit back down.”

Joel’s eyes conveyed the same message. If this hotshot wanted to hold onto his teeth, he better do as he was told.

The man wilted like a flower. “Oh, sorry Tess. Didn’t realize you two were together. Go ahead,” he said, stepping aside. Joel didn’t need the hotshot’s permission and was about to say so, but he tended to err with caution when it came to friends of Tess.

“Who’s that?” he asked, bristling and stepping down from the bus.

“An old headache. Don’t ask.”

Now they were out of the market and facing the end of the street. A barricade of stacked freight containers and a fence topped with spiraling barbed wire cut the inhabitants off from the rest of the city. Or was it the barricade keeping the soldiers out?

Joel walked up to a pair of city dwellers who seemed too interested in the activity just beyond the fence to notice his approach. 

“That guy’s been hoarding all sorts a shit in that factory,” the man said. Joel glanced up to see military vehicles being loaded. It was then the two spectators became aware of Joel’s presence.

“Whoa, whoa, hold up man,” the woman whispered urgently. She turned slightly and gave Joel the customary evil eye that told him to shove off.

He’d seen paranoia before, but in this section of the city it was rampant. He shook his head and backed off. He hustled back to where he saw Tess approaching a dark man in a hooded sweatshirt. The man was casually leaning against one of the fenced-in exits examining his fingernails.

Tess leaned her head toward the young man. “I’m lookin’ for Robert,” she said quietly. She reached into her back pocket and retrieved a packet of cards bound by a rubber band. “He come through here?” she asked, offering him the bundle.

“Half hour ago,” the hooded man replied. “He went back to the wharf. He’s there now.” He reached up and casually took the cards from Tess, giving her the slightest of nods.

Without a word Tess moved past him and the man lowered his head, returning his attention to his nails with great interest. Joel walked past him, saying nothing.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Now they were walking down a dark back alley. They passed a locked metal door to their right which bore the familiar wings of the Fireflies spray-painted in yellow. Below it read the words:

“Rise to the Light.”

The back alley ended in a street lit with clouded sunlight offering only one direction to them: the left. Near a barricade off to one side, a makeshift tent sagged; inside were a couple of worn mattresses. On another of the many concrete barricades that lined their path, Joel saw the familiar Fireflies refrain in that same shade of yellow:

“Look for the Light.”

Tess now faced a metal gate with the door propped open. Without hesitation, she proceeded through it and Joel followed. Without a word between them, he sensed her body tensing.

They had crossed into treacherous territory.

Robert’s territory.

They were approaching a quad surrounded by old warehouses with loading docks on opposite sides. Large machine parts of various designs lay scattered about like playthings, aging in the dying sun. Directly across from them rose an arched exit through a whitewashed building which led to the docks - and more importantly - to Robert.

As they entered the confined space, a handful of Robert’s men suddenly appeared out of the shadows.

“Here we go,” Joel muttered as he and Tess took up a defensive position behind a waist-high pallet of heavy rusted pipes.

There were three of them - Robert’s goons - two of whom wielded hand guns. The large black man in front, the leader, apparently needed nothing more than his menacing grimace to ward off intruders.

He wore a jacket with the sleeves pushed up, black gloves on his hands, and had a face that looked like a worn catcher’s mitt.

The five faced off. It was time for a showdown.

“Let us through,” appealed Tess, catching Joel slightly off guard. It wasn’t like her to negotiate with lower-tier scum and her comment surprised him.

The leader took up a stance in front of his partners and spoke in a menacing tone.

“You guys need to turn around and head back if you know what’s good for you.”

“Our beef isn’t with you,” Tess appealed, her voice hypnotic with calm. “We just want Robert. You don’t want to do this.”

The leader grew impatient as his eyes burned like smoldering coals.

“Turn the fuck around and leave now.”

Tess shook her head slowly and deliberately.

“I’m not going anywhere without Robert.”

She edged forward and Joel’s heartbeat quickened as he watched the others remain rooted to the ground, their hands fidgeting nervously.

“Bitch,” the leader spoke, advancing, his voice rising with anger as he jabbed a finger in her direction. “I will bash your skull unless you turn around and get your dumb ass outta here.”

Tess took in a breath as she glanced over at Joel, weighing her options. Then, with a slight shrug of her shoulders, she came to a decision.

“Fuck this,” she said.

Before the leader could react, Tess calmly raised her semi-automatic pistol and fired a round into the large man’s chest. The leader collapsed like a sack of garbage tossed to the street.

The others scrambled for safety like a pair of frightened mice.

“Take cover!” one of the remaining men shouted.

Tess touched Joel’s arm and he followed her lead, ducking for cover behind a crate of heavy iron pipes. She leveled her gaze at him.

“You ready?” she asked with heated breath.

“Yeah,” replied Joel with a nod. He was ready.

Tess’s nostrils flared with satisfaction.

“I’ll cover you,” she said.

One of the Robert’s goons poked his head up and cried out:

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you!”

“Get the angle on them,” she whispered, motioning to the crate to his left.

Crouching, Joel jogged to the crate, staying low behind a long table of boxes.

He waited a moment for the men hiding behind cover to reveal themselves. One did, and Joel raised his gun just as his target was about to return fire.

He shot the son-of-a-bitch right between the eyes.

“Shit!” screamed the other goon, watching his friend dissolve into a pool of his own blood.

Tess made her move then, to draw his fire, knowing the man was rattled. When the gunman rose to take his shot, Joel took careful aim and fired.

Another headshot. Another one of Robert’s goons permanently demoted.

It was precise teamwork; years in the making. And now they stood alone in the quad.

As Joel crouched over the dead body of the second man, claiming his victim’s unspent ammo, Tess walked up to his side.

“Nicely done, Texas.”

Joel snorted at the compliment. He guessed if there was one thing he was good at, it was probably this. He repaid the kindness nevertheless.

“You too.”

He shoved the gun back under his belt, looked around at the lifeless bodies lying in puddles of blood and shook his head.

“How the hell did he get all these guys?”

“If Robert’s good at one thing,” Tess sighed, motioning to the carnage, “it’s writing blank checks.” She sucked in a deep breath and then took off in a sprint through the open archway.

“Let’s go put an end to that.”

Joel nodded in agreement. He checked his rounds and then followed her through the tunnel.


	12. Chapter Twelve

The tunnel they had entered wasn’t long but it was dark. Joel felt a chill run down his back, it was like they were escaping from prison. Tess waited near the exit, crouched, hiding in the shadows. As Joel rounded the corner, he saw the locked gate blocking their path and concrete stairs rising up on the other side. The fence had double strands of razor wire along the top.

Tess pulled at the gate and cursed.

“Shit. Not goin’ through here.”

She looked around impatiently and spotted the concrete ledge to her left. A large sign was affixed to the cracked concrete wall just below the ledge:

DANGER  
NO ENTRY  
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

Tess, ignoring it, turned to Joel.

“Hey, boost me,” she said, nodding to the ledge.

Joel understood and began to assume the customary position, placing his back against the wall.

“Alright,” he said with a quick jerk of his head. “C’mon.”

He had a feeling they were going to be spotted at any moment. If they were going to do this, they needed to be quick about it.

His hands formed a cradle on his knee and Tess took a running start and leaped into it, placing her foot in his hands and her hands on his shoulders. In one smooth motion, Joel propelled her up to the ledge.

She grabbed at the surface with her fingers, grunted, and quickly scrambled up. Next, she spun her body around and lowered a hand to Joel, bracing herself with the other.

“Gimme your hand,” she panted.

Joel took a step back and jumped, grabbing her extended hand. Tess grunted with effort as her muscles flexed to raise Joel up. He managed to get his knee over the edge and scrambled the rest of the way on his own.

“There you go,” said Tess, her lungs out of breath as she placed a hand on Joel’s shoulder.

“Alright,” he sighed, catching his own breath.

The sun was practically set as they hurried down a brick alley way toward the docks. Rats scurried out of their path seeking shadows at the sound of their approach. They descended a short flight of concrete steps and found themselves on a rooftop landing just overlooking the wharf. A metal fence with more razor wire blocked their path, but a large hole had been cut through, affording them a makeshift exit.

Tess went to the narrow hole in the fence, pulling it further apart with her hands.

“Over here, Joel.”

The landing they were on faced a tall white building in a courtyard punctuated by large metal air conditioning units, their fans long since dormant. Metal grates lay scattered on the ground.

The large building facing them sported several windowless archways around the bottom floor. Outside, several crates covered in weathered tarps sat decaying in the fading sunlight, and the sound of cawing seagulls drifted in with the cool ocean breeze.

Joel slipped through the fence without a sound and dropped to the ground. A moment later, Tess dropped silently behind him. Together they assumed a position behind one of the tarped crates, being careful to remain out of sight.

Two men walked impassively out into the courtyard through one of the doorless archways.

Joel heard Tess release a sigh and say in a cursed whisper:

“More of Robert’s guys.”

“Shit,” Joel replied. “I see ‘em.”

As the two men strolled single file out into the courtyard, their voices echoed in the vacant square.

“How do you know they’re coming?” asked the one trailing behind, his tone shrouded in doubt.

The lead lookout spoke with a tinge of fear in his voice.

“Two of our guys died trying to take Tess out. I guarantee that she and Joel are on their way here, right now to get Robert.”

At the mention of their comrades deaths at the hands of his partner, Joel remembered his conversation with Tess earlier in his apartment. He glanced at her and she gave him a brief shrug in response.

“Jesus,” sighed the man following behind. “We shouldn’t a taken this job.”

“Not our call. Let’s spread out and make sure no one’s creeping around in here.”

“Nice and quiet, Texas,” whispered Tess, preparing to pounce.

In the next instant, Joel watched Tess move quickly, like a cat.

She fell in step behind the man trailing his partner as her right hand produced a makeshift shiv from her back pocket. She was directly behind the unsuspecting goon, ready to strike.

In one fluid move, her left hand wrapped around her victim’s throat while the other went up, paused a split second, then came down sharply. The man released an agonizing death gasp as she drove the shiv deep into his neck.

Just as quietly and just as smoothly, she eased the body to the ground. The handiwork of a true professional which Joel had witnessed many times over.

As Joel reached her, she was issuing commands.

“Move up,” she ushered. “Move up.”

Joel crouched walked quickly, trailing the unsuspecting lookout as he wandered past an opened fenced gate with the typical bundle of razor wire bunched on top. The place was quiet save for the sound of seagulls floating on the ocean breeze. Luckily, the overcast sky above removed the threat of his shadow giving him away.

When he was close enough, Joel sprang upward like a coiled snake, gripping the man’s neck in a choke hold. With one iron forearm across his victim’s throat, the other arm applied downward pressure to the back of his neck.  This was his forte, a move he had practiced to perfection.

The key to success was making his hand as thin as possible, and sliding it all the way under his victim's chin so that the throat ended in the v of his bent arm. With his left hand all the way through, Joel would then grip the bicep of his other arm. With the head locked in a cross-section of Joel's arms, he now only needed to pull his shoulders back and squeeze. Sometimes there was a crunch as the neck snapped; most of the time the victim simply ran out of air and crumpled to the ground.

Joel eased the dead man to the ground and quickly turned to his right toward the open windows of the brick warehouse. He approached while staying low and caught a glimpse of at least two others still inside. He made his way to the open window being careful to stay out of sight.

The men inside were in the midst of a conversation.

“I meant to tell you,” the one closest to Joel said, with a hint of disgust. “I was down on Jordan Street, and all these soldiers showed up with a group of about five civs, all in handcuffs.”

“Let me guess. Fireflies?” the other guard replied.

“Yup. They lined ‘em up against the wall and bang, bang, bang. They just executed all of them.”

The guard exhaled and said, “Holy shit.”

Peeking over the ledge, Joel saw the men had turned their backs to the window. With his heartbeat picking up steam, he silently vaulted over the low sill and slipped quietly into the room.

“Yeah,” continued the first. “I hear it’s like that all over the city. They’re cracking down on ‘em hard.”

“I got a cousin with ‘em.”

“Seriously?” the first man asked.

“Yeah. Idiot thinks he’s gonna save the world.” He paused before adding an afterthought. “I hope he’s alright.”

The two men were facing away from him. To his right, he caught a glimpse of Tess hiding just beyond the door to the adjacent room, having entered through one of the windows herself.

She jerked her head to the man to Joel’s left while making it clear she had her sights set on the one closest to her: _You take one out, I’ll take the other._

Joel nodded in response and, keeping in sync with his partner, he crept up behind his next victim and grabbed the man in a choke hold. His range of vision afforded him a view of Tess as she drove a shiv into the throat of the man to his right.

Another death gasp, another body hitting the floor, but this time, something different. A clink. The sound of metal bouncing on concrete.

Joel glanced around the body and then spotted it.

A key.

He quickly scooped it up.

They were standing in an office of some type. Wooden countertops with ash trays, aged monitors and lifeless computers. A couple of yellow, weathered bulletin boards hung askew here and there. There was a tall red metal tool chest, and a set of wooden cupboards with cardboard boxes along the wall. A dingy old water cooler squatted near the door.

“Good to have you around,” Tess said, panting with adrenaline. “Let’s search the area.”

Joel quickly slipped into the adjacent room and looked around: a desk with playing cards, some rusted oil cans, a set of shelves with not much on them.

He left the room the way he found it and headed to the open door at the far end of the room he had first entered. Several overfilled metal garbage cans lined the wall to his left. He passed those and went through the open doorway with Tess following close on his heels.

There was a short hall that ended in a locked metal door. Joel slipped the key he had found quietly into the lock and pushed the door open.

The two walked into a large open room mostly vacant except for a few wooden crates lying here and there. Almost immediately, Joel and Tess heard voices and ducked for cover; at least two men were approaching from the outside.

“Hey,” one of the men said, jogging up to the other. “We consolidated the crates in the south warehouse. Supplies are locked up.”

“Good,” replied his partner. “Let’s do another once over and then head out. It’s getting close to curfew.”

Joel caught a glimpse of an empty bottle lying on the crate in front of him and, without thinking, he picked it up. It had been a long standing practice to scoop up anything that might serve as a distraction.

He crept closer to the open door, ducking behind another crate. The room he was in was dark, the only light filtering in from the cloud-covered sun above. There were bars on the open window to his left.

“What about Robert?” he heard one of the goons ask. “Who’s he holing up with tonight? Guy’s too paranoid to stay here by himself.”

Joel grunted. That was an understatement.

“Fuck if I know,” came the reply. “We’ll check in with the others and come up with something.”

From what Joel could discern from his limited vantage point, there were at least three of the guards making the rounds. One seemed to be holding back, a large black man with a semi-automatic pistol in his hand. He turned unexpectedly and entered the room where Joel and Tess hid.

Luckily for Joel, the man turned his back to the room as he took a lookout position by the open door. Now was the perfect opportunity to strike. As Joel approached, he happened to glance out the open window to his right and saw one of the guards ascending a metal staircase.

Hidden in the man’s shadow, Joel performed the same move as before, only now Joel had the muzzle of his gun pressed hard against his victim’s temple.

Before the man could react, Joel dragged him back inside the darkness of the empty room, dropped to one knee and applied his chokehold with all his might. The man put up a fight, trying to reach the unknown assailant behind him, but all he could manage to do was scrape jagged fingernails across Joel’s cheek.

Joel gritted his teeth and squeezed with a sudden burst of exertion. In the next instant, a _snap_ , and the man went limp.

Outside sat various jacks, their forks under wooden pallets of sandbags piled waist-high. Pieces of busted pallets were strewn here and there among the heavily cracked, weed-infested concrete.

Joel had his choice. Follow the visible guard walking ahead of him into a darkened, rusted bay or take the flight of metal stairs to his right.

He choose the stairs.

Staying low, Joel quickly ascended, keeping his eyes and ears open. At the top of the stairs, a broken window. Joel hung back a moment, staying as close to the outside wall as possible. Hearing nothing, he turned the corner and that’s when the saw the third guard standing casually under an open metal doorway.

A large mechanical press dominated the center of the room which Joel quietly used as cover. Elsewhere were tool boxes, shelves with large plastic buckets, paint cans and other miscellaneous debris. A timeclock hung on the wall next to a rack of withered time cards.

The man standing under the door wore a ball cap, and tennis shoes, a sleeveless jacket over a dirty tee-shirt. One of his fingerless gloves held a semi-automatic pistol.

As quiet as a snake Joel slithered behind the unsuspecting guard. He had to be quick; grabbing him in the open could alert the others. He sprang from his crouched position and in a flash slid his arm under the man’s chin and around his throat. Just as before, he used the muzzle of his gun to get his point across: _Silence was golden._

The man understood, but it would be the last revelation he would ever have.

Joel dragged him back into the shadows and dropped to one knee to allow himself maximum exertion.

In a matter of seconds, it was all over.

Joel turned and let the dead man crumple to the ground. By now his arms were getting quite tired and he wondered vaguely about the number of necks he could handle.

Staying low, Joel went through the open metal doorway and turned right. He entered a space denoted by a short hallway; some kind of supervisory office with windows facing outward. On the wall hung a whiteboard used for scheduling workers. In the corner a desk. Joel caught sight of a makeshift shiv lying on the counter and quickly scooped it up and slid it into his pocket.

As he turned the corner, he froze.

Two men were standing right outside the doorless entryway. He was about to reevaluate his options when they broke apart and began walking away. Joel saw his opportunity and struck.

He grabbed the man closest to him and pulled him back into the shadows, again using the muzzle of his gun as a warning. Before the man could state his case, Joel issued the verdict: death by affixation. As he squeezed the life from the man, his eyes followed his next intended victim, a large black man who strolled casually away, oblivious to his impending doom.

But Joel’s mistake was not staying clear of the door. Before he could duck out of the way, the other man turned and caught sight of Joel’s movement, startling him. He drew his weapon and cautiously approached as Joel slid back into the shadows of the narrow office.

As the man stuck his head through the open doorway, he caught sight of Joel hiding. Before Joel could react, the man struck him hard across the nose with a left cross.

Joel was momentarily blinded by searing pain, and as his assailant moved in to strike again, Joel used the bottle he had picked up earlier to smash against the black man’s head. The brawler retreated, just far enough for Joel to bridge the distance and slide his arm around the big man’s throat.

Now the two were out in the open, struggling on the catwalk, and their ruckus had drawn the attention of the last guard standing alone in the cargo-filled bay below them.

“Let him go, asshole!” yelled the man below, gripping his weapon with two hands in an attempt to steady his aim.

Using the brawler in his neckhold as a shield, Joel raised his gun and took aim at the man standing in the open bay below. Struggling made aiming difficult, but he managed to nail the bastard with his second shot.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Joel turned the gun back on his human shield and fired a bullet into the black man’s temple. He released his grip and let the body fall in a heap at his feet.

Tess was just at that moment turning the corner, following in his footsteps.

She sucked in a breath as she surveyed the carnage around them, relieved to see Joel was still standing.

“We shoulda brought more people,” she said.

Joel, his lungs empty from exertion, his arms sore and raw, his face bloody and throbbing, replied by stating the obvious:

“They’d just slow us down.”

“Yeah,” Tess agreed. “You’re right.”

She turned and pointed. 

“C’mon, the docks are this way. Let’s do this.”


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Joel descended the wrought-iron stairs into a shadow-filled bay where old machinery equipment sat rusting away in the salt-laden air. He found Tess waiting patiently for him beside a large metal door that blocked their exit.

He looked at the door of galvanized steel and grunted. The sheer weight of it did not appeal to him. He shoved the gun back behind his hip and took up a position by the pull-chain to the right of the door. Dwindling sunlight filtered in through the dirty windows above, offering just enough light to see. It took a lot of effort to raise the door, heavy as it was, pulling down hand over hand on the thick chain, grunting with each successive pull.

The bearings were rusted and the high-pitched screech of metal against metal pierced their ears and caused Tess to wince. When it was raised high enough, she bent down low and slipped through the opening. Joel pressed the steel-toe of his boot down on the foot catch and, surprisingly, it held. He slipped through the gap, following his partner.

The sudden glare of sunlight made him realize they were now out in the open and immediately he ducked low, moving up to Tess who was concealed behind a section of a demolished brick wall about three feet in height. A panoramic vista painted with brushstrokes of gray and orange, decay and rust, stretched out before them: the vast arena of the loading docks. From this position, Joel and Tess could take in the entire tableau; an area that once served as a busy shipping dock for cargo ships moving in and out of the Atlantic.

What they saw were canisters and freight containers stacked helter-skelter on the dock, a landscape dominated in the center by a large open warehouse more than three stories tall, comprised of green corrugated metal walls, white lettering. There were plenty of opens walls where the panels were missing. Inside the structure he could see thick iron beams, caked with rust, that formed the warehouse’s frame. High above, surrounding the top floor, were dingy broken windows under a slightly slanted and sagging roof. 

The open containers strewn throughout the wharf formed an odd kind of Rube Goldberg maze, peppered with fork-lifts frozen in there tracks, and meandering throughout this man-made jungle were a dozen or so men; desperate souls trying to make sense of a desperate existence.

In short, Robert’s men.

Joel held little regard for the men patrolling the wharf. To him anyone who worked for Robert was no different than a stalker or a clicker, although significantly less dangerous and vastly more predictable. He understood the need to find a sense of purpose in a purposeless world, but these were no better than rats feasting off the garbage of human existence.

Garbage and purpose that Robert provided.

But as bad as he despised them, they still weren’t the lowest on Joel’s list of undesirables. 

That spot was reserved for uniforms with the license to kill.

Tess pointed to a man in his late thirties with greasy rust-colored hair pulled back in a short ponytail, an abrasive goatee surrounding his thin colorless lips. Robert was a smuggler, the kind that would do anything if the price was right. But it was his utter lack of loyalty that made Joel bristle.

The man in the hooded gray sweater was no bigger than the rest, certainly not intimidating, but he did convey a sense of authority that appealed to the less intelligent. He had a yellowish complexion with jaundiced eyes and it was obvious from their interaction that the surrounding men held him in high regard.

The sight of Robert issuing commands caused Tess to shake her head in disbelief. She exhaled, settled back on her heels and then she looked at Joel with an expression of utter disgust.

“That cocky son of a bitch.”

Joel, not much for long-winded speeches, merely winked at Tess and nodded in Robert’s direction.

“Let’s go wrap this up.”

Tess nodded her reply and the two observers took one last look at what they were up against. At least a half-dozen men slowly patrolled the wharf, making their rounds. Those not blessed with side-arms carried large wooden sticks in their gloved hands.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Joel put his hands on the edge of the brick wall and vaulted over it, landing silently behind a bulk of crated iron pipes. Tess quickly joined him at his side. Two guards strolled nearby, engaged in a maundering conversation.

“Shipments have been dry for a long time,” said the one closest to Joel.

“Yeah, well,” the other said as he recounted the losses on extended fingers: “We lost our contacts in the north, lost our contacts in the south. Shit. I don’t know who’s left out there to sell us stuff. Guess this is why we’re taking shitty protection jobs.”

“Fucking Robert. This rat better be good for it.”

Tess and Joel looked at each other; Tess closed her eyes and shook her head.

“Even if he is, then what? I’m telling you, this zone is done for. We better think of an exit strategy.”

“You’re insane. Going outside the wall is suicide.”

“Plenty of other smugglers do it. What do you think’s gonna happen here once supplies run out?”

“I’d still take my chances here.”

Joel left the cover of the pipes and moved in. He pressed himself up against a large blue metal bin filled with tarps of various faded colors as he patiently awaited his opportunity.

“Nice and quiet, Texas,” whispered Tess from somewhere close behind him.

When the gap between the men lengthened, Joel advanced. He used the shiv he had found earlier to plunge into the trailing man’s neck. A gasp, a spasm, and then the body went limp. It was then onto the next. 

Working methodically and staying in the shadows, Joel moved quickly from one stack of crates to the next, edging closer and closer to the rear of the complex.

He crept up to the guards with cobra-like efficiency and moved with a keen awareness and intensity of focus. He took out Robert’s men one by one, freeing them from the nightmare of their subhuman existence.

A wooden club fell from the hands of one of his victims and Joel picked it, feeling the weight of it in his hands. Ahead, another guard stood facing them. Joel hung back, crouched behind a wooden crate waiting for his opportunity. Patience was key, and when it came to killing, Joel bided his time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

He took a moment to catch his breath and he became acutely aware of the sound of seagulls circling above him on the ocean breeze. He had passed through a long maze of freight containers and crates, of rusted machine parts and tattered tarps. The smell of salt water filled his senses, mixed with sweat and grease, and the unpleasant odor of smoldering refuse stifling the late-afternoon air.

The guard facing him apparently didn’t notice him, for he turned away, resuming his uninspired patrol. 

Joel swung the club at the man’s head, hard, crushing the skull and snapping the wooden club in two. He let the remaining wooden stub fall from his hands.

At last Joel rounded a corner and saw the closed metal door at the end of the dock. To either side, steel shutters covered the windows. Above the door, a solitary light flickered dimly, powered by some unseen generator.

“That office,” Tess said in an excited hush as she pressed up beside him. “Robert must’ve run in there. Let’s go.”

Playing it safe, Joel picked up a brick and lobbed it at the door.

“What the fuck was that?” came a surprised response from around the corner of the crate beside him.

Joel peeked around the corner, saw the last remaining guard. With the man’s back turned toward him, he scampered up behind and locked his arms around the neck. In a matter of seconds, the guard was dead.

They were now positioned just outside Robert’s office.

Joel crept to the door, grabbed the handle and pushed it open. He could feel Tess’s presence close behind, tense, ready for the unexpected.

They entered what appeared to be an ante chamber to an interior office: a waiting room of some kind. He saw a sofa, a pair of wooden tables, a few chairs, and a wooden block of shelves sitting off in the corner. A few pictures hung askew on the wall. To his immediate left, another door.

Robert’s office.

Joel rose to his feet and calmly opened the door. Inside was a large office with desks and debris, a circular fan, blinds. Standing at the far end was Robert with a gun in his hands.

“Oh shit!” Joel shouted as he ducked for cover on the other side of the door just as the bullet ricocheted past him.

“Get back!” Robert shouted, breathing heavily and firing another round. “Get the fuck back!”

Tess came around him and ducked for cover on the opposite side. Both had their backs flattened against the wall.

“We just wanna talk Robert,” Tess said, her voice loud but reassuring.

“We ain’t got fuckin’ nothin’ to talk about!” came the panicked response.

“Put your gun down!” Tess ordered, trying to mask her anger. 

As she poked her head around the corner of the open doorway, Robert fired again, the bullet sparking off the metal door jamb inches from her face. She drew back quickly and glanced at Joel. Together they shook their heads.

“Yeah?” Robert said, pulling the trigger but only hearing a click. “Go fuck yourself!”

With nothing left to do but flee, Robert did the only reasonable thing left: he threw the empty pistol at the doorway. As it went clunking past them, he took off in a mad sprint through the open doorway to his right.

“He’s running!” Tess yelled as she leaned in to take a closer look. With that, both she and Joel burst into the room.

“Robert!” Joel angrily warned, irritated at having to give chase.

“Screw you, Joel!” came another panicked response.

Tess motioned toward the empty hallway.

“Joel, this way!”

Seething with anger, Joel kicked the closed door open. It banged loudly and he went past it, following Robert through a narrow alleyway littered with debris.

His prey turned a corner, fleeing like a rat. He kicked over garbage pails as he fled and raced like a mad clown down another alley.

Joel continued to race after him, feeling his anger build.

To his left, Robert slipped through an entrance shielded with vertical vinyl blinds, a cold storage room used for produce.

“We almost got him!” shouted Tess behind him.

Another hallway, another quick turn to his right, with Joel following only the sound of fleeing footsteps...

He came to a window and vaulted through it without hesitation, and then, feeling a sense of relief, found himself in a dead end alley. There was Robert, pushing helplessly against a locked fenced gate, cursing his fate.

“Come on!” the ponytailed man cried, shoving himself against the object of his own bad luck.

Tess joined Joel on the other side of the window and then smiled at the beautiful scene presented before them.

“Hello, Robert,” she said, with a cheerful sense of satisfaction in her voice.

Robert rubbed his chin, his conniving mind obviously working overtime.

He turned and smiled, relying on his impish charm.

“Tess. Joel. No hard feelings, right?”

“None at all,” she said as she calmly bent down to pick up a heavy metal pipe that was lying at her feet.

Robert’s eyes shifted quickly as he weighed his options. Finally he nodded, admitting defeat. He said, “Alright…” and then he tried to push past them in a mad dash for survival.

But Tess was ready and poised to strike. She swung hard at his leg as he raced past her, like Ty Cobb knocking one out of the park. The blow sent Robert reeling to the ground. The jaundiced-eyed man cried out in agonizing pain.

“Ah… goddammit!” he screamed, holding his broken kneecap with both hands.

With Robert incapacitated, Tess let the pipe fall to the ground, her eyes darkening with rage. The bruises on her face from this morning were still raw, and it showed in the way her lips curled. 

Joel hung back, watching the events unfold with amusement.

“We missed you,” Tess said with unnerving civility.

“Look,” Robert began as the tears filled his eyes. “Whatever it is you heard, it ain’t true, okay? I just want to say --”

“The guns,” Tess said, cutting him off, circling him. “You wanna tell us where the guns are?”

“Yeah, sure.” He struggled with the proper phrasing. “It’s complicated. Alright?”

“Hmm,” Tess said. She looked over at Joel who was watching patiently from his perch against the wall as if to ask her partner,  _ What do you think? _

Joel’s response was simple. He pushed himself off the wall and walked menacingly over to Robert’s prone body.

Robert’s eyes widened. He was lying on his side, hands on his wounded leg. “Look,” he pleaded as Joel’s dark shadow approached. “Alright? Just hear me out on this. I gotta --”

Before he could say another word, Joel let a heavy boot fly across Robert’s face, snapping the greasy head back. 

_ That was for Tess. _

“Fuck!” Robert cried out. 

Joel bent over the man and grabbed his right arm, forcing Robert’s chest to the ground. Carefully he straightened the wrist, palm up, using his left knee to pin the arm to the ground just below the elbow.

Robert had to know what was coming next.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” he pleaded in anguish.

Tess calmly walked over to the man, bending low so she wouldn’t have to raise her voice.

“Quit your squrimin’,” she told him.

Everyone knew the rules of the game, knew the players and what each were capable of. Tess took a knee beside Robert, indicating she was willing to hear him out. Her voice was soft and clear.

“You were saying?”

With no other cards left to play, Robert made a last-ditch effort for freedom: he resorted to honesty.

“I sold them,” he said.

The words caught Tess by surprise.

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” he said, rambling the words off in a frightened gush. “I owed someone.”

“You owed us,” she replied pointedly. “I’d say you bet on the wrong horse.”

Robert sighed and nodded at the painful truth.

“I just need more time,” he said. “Just gimme a week.”

“You know, I might’ve done that,” Tess said, “if you hadn’t tried to fucking kill me.”

“C’mon, it wasn’t like that--”

“Who has our guns?” she demanded as anger rose in her voice.

A brief silence ensued. Finally the man on the ground said, “I can’t.”

Tess lifted her chin and looked at Joel. It was time for a little persuasion.

Joel pressed the full weight of his body down on his knee and yanked sharply on Robert’s wrist. 

There was a  _ snap _ as the elbow broke.

Robert screamed out in pain. “Argh! Fuckin’...!” He rolled over on his side, his arm as limp as a rope.

Tess leaned in close to his ear, repeating the question again.

“Who has our guns?” she asked.

Through a painful grimace, Robert answered.

“It’s the Fireflies. I owed the Fireflies.” He said it with the relief that comes from getting a horrible truth off your chest.

“What?” Tess asked, incredulous.

“Look,” Robert continued through agonizing gasps. “They’re basically all dead. We can just,” he took a deep breath, “just go in there, finish ‘em off.” He nodded excitedly. “We get the guns. Whadya say?”

Tess looked at Joel, her face full of abysmal disappointment. She slowly rose to her feet with Joel rising alongside her.

“C’mon,” continued Robert, trying to fuel comradery. “Fuck those Fireflies. Let’s go get ‘em.”

Tess looked down at the man, an arm hanging at her side with a gun in its grip.

When Robert was finished, she looked at Joel and said:

“ _That_ is a stupid idea.”

And with that she raised the muzzle of the gun and fired two angry bullets into the ponytailed head as Joel watched impassively beside her.

Joel’s shoulders rose as he sucked in a deep breath.

“Well, now what?”

“We go get our merchandise back,” Tess replied simply, her voice tinged with frustration.

“How?”

“I don’t know.” She was searching for the words. “We... explain it to them.”

They stared at each other a moment as the reality of their next move became clear.

“Look,” Tess said with a sense of finality. “Let’s go find a Firefly.”


End file.
